


i feel you move (in distances worth keeping)

by brokentombstone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cersei and jaime fled to Essos, F/M, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post-Canon, Starks are in the north, and a few years down the road they have to come together to take down daenerys, basically Dany won the throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 139,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentombstone/pseuds/brokentombstone
Summary: “Well then who are you writing to, who will be our saviour in all of this?”Cersei looks Jaime right in the eye, “Sansa Stark."--Daenerys Targaryen came to Westeros and brought a continent to their knees. She did it without raining down dragon fire but in the years since they defeated the Night King she has grown restless and paranoid. The North grows prosperous under the rule of Jon and Sansa Stark who have rebuilt their broken home alongside their siblings Bran and Arya. On the other side of the sea Cersei and Jaime Lannister flee bounty hunters that they thought they left behind them years ago.When the houses of Stark, Lannister, and Targaryen clash and come together they will leave Westeros changed once again.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 199
Kudos: 380





	1. tearing down doors of time

**Author's Note:**

> title from echos "say it"

It’s raining the day Sansa receives the letter and this seems like fate.

She rose before Jon and realized quickly that they were likely to spend most of the day indoors as the rain had already started. The sky was grey and it had made Sansa recall the days when her life was endlessly dreary. Before she could dwell too much on the unfortunate summer storm she heard baby Catelyn stirring.

Catelyn had her first name day only a few months ago but the joy she had brought Winterfell from the time of her birth was undeniable. She had the grey eyes of her father, the red hair of her mother, and the name of her grandmother before her and she seemed to be constantly smiling. Her name had been an unexpected gift to Sansa. Her and Jon had discussed names before the birth, for boys and girls but for obvious reasons Sansa had never brought up the name Catelyn.

However, after Sansa’s labour was over and the maester had cleaned her up, Jon and Sansa had their first moments alone with their new child. 

“She’s perfect,” breathed Sansa, still tired from the birthing.

Jon looked at her in awe, seemingly unable to comprehend what in his life had brought him to this point, to have this beautiful woman, and happy healthy daughter. 

Hesitantly he said, “I think,” he looked at Sansa and resolved himself, “We should name her Catelyn, for your Lady Mother”. 

Sansa is momentarily stunned and then, “Jon, we don’t have-”

“The hair Sansa, she has your hair and the hair of your mother, her eyes may be like mine but she will look just like you as she grows, as you resembled Catelyn. We should honour her with this, she was as much a Stark as we are” Jon finished, with a small smile.

They had talked about it more after Sansa had had more time to rest but he was insistent and explained how he had resented Catelyn for so long but he had come to understand her after the truth of his own birth had been revealed, he knew that Catelyn would have regretted never knowing the truth and her behaviour would have been different if she had.

It was a gift that Sansa could never repay Jon for, the ability to name her daughter after her own mother who she never got to say goodbye to, after all these years that loss still hurt her. 

Sansa made her way across the room to Catelyn’s crib and picked up their child. She was still in the grips of sleep and Sansa brought her back to the warmth of her parent’s bed. She snuggled her between herself and Jon and listened to the rain outside, while thinking about how her life had come to a peaceful and steady routine after years of turmoil and upheaval. There were things still to worry about, of course, the Lords of the North were always a handful even at the best of times, she had Arya and Bran’s futures to think about, and the Dragon Queen to the South was a constant shadow over them all. But for this one morning Sansa could enjoy the sound of the rain while stroking her daughter’s cheek and watching her husband doze, and she was content, the happiest she had been in ages. She rested until Jon began to wake and their day as Lord and Lady of Winterfell would truly begin. 

Jon nestled over to Sansa, “Good morning my love,” he said while laying a light kiss on her lips. 

Sansa smiled into the kiss and thought that maybe the rain wasn’t an omen from her past afterall. 

Later on, the household of Winterfell was enjoying their breakfast and talking quietly about the rain and what their day would entail or exclude due to the weather. Sansa and Jon sat at the head table as their position required. Arya, as usual, was arriving late to the meal after a gruelling early morning training session she ran for some of the highborn children, the weather seemed to have no effect whatsoever on her mood. Bran had been wheeled in by Podrick and was discussing a minor land dispute two lords had brought forward with Jon. 

Sansa had mostly finished eating and was paying her attention to Catelyn who was probably ready for a mid morning nap after being up for a few hours already. Brienne was in the middle of asking Sansa something when the high table was interrupted by the arrival of one of Sansa’s handmaidens. 

“Lyarra?” Sansa asked slightly surprisedly. 

“My apologies my Lady, I was asked to bring you this letter that Maester Tarly had just received, he said it didn’t come with the rest of the ravens so I should just bring it here instead,” Lyarra replied with only a hint of nerves for being on display to the whole of Winterfell during their morning meal. 

“Oh of course, thank you Lyarra, you are free to go” Sansa replied while taking the letter from the girl’s outstretched hand. 

The whole high table seemed interested in this exchange that was quite out of the ordinary but the rest of the hall was relatively oblivious. Winterfell always had many people about. The household itself was large and took many people to run it and they always had at least a few lords passing through or visiting to bring their queries to their liege Lord and Lady. Jon and Sansa opened their doors to any Northerners and it kept Winterfell bustling. But Lyarra had gone unnoticed by most.

“Well what’s that letter about?” Arya asked immediately, perpetually curious.

“I’m sure it’s nothing important and just a raven that came later than the rest normally do nothing to be worried about” Sansa replied rolling her eyes at her sister.

Everyone seemed to go back to what they were doing at that and Jon caught Sansa’s eye for a moment, looking calm, but she didn’t miss him glance down at the letter still in her hands briefly before he turned back to his conversation with Bran.

With everyone occupied Sansa turned to the letter. It was immediately peculiar to her. The paper felt off, and not just the slight dampness that had come with the rain but the texture was different than the crisp paper the northerners usually used and it wasn’t as bright as anything from the South, she could tell Daenerys would never send her a letter looking so shabby.

The envelope itself wasn’t even properly addressed. Sansa had been so used to her letters being addressed as “Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North” for so long that she could do nothing but stare dumbly when this simply said “Sansa”.

Her fingers trailed along the back of the envelope as she made to open it but she glanced once more at her name written there so plainly and something seemed to prickle in the back of her skull, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She thought herself silly but she could feel herself take a deep breath before opening the letter and she found herself looking around the room and the high table one last time before opening it, as if her life was going to be marked by a before and after. 

She slid the letter out of the envelope and as her eyes read the first few words she felt herself stiffen, her body went cold, and she took a sharp intake of breath.

~~~

Arya watched Sansa out of the corner of her eye. She played with the letter for what felt like an eternity before her sister began to open it. She knew Sansa had brushed it off but it was simply too strange for the mail to come separately like that when it usually all arrived in the early morning before anyone was awake. She wanted to ask her bluntly what it was but being a few seats away she was aware that Sansa would likely be incredibly unimpressed if she drew unneeded attention to the peculiar occurrence.

But just as Sansa drew the letter out Arya became distracted. 

“Lady Stark, I have the new practice shields ready to go for your afternoon lessons” Gendry said as he approached them at the high table.

Arya reacted instantly to the sound of his voice but kept her face neutral when she turned to him. 

“I’ve told you too many times to do away with all the titles Gendry, or should I call you Lord Baratheon?”

“As my Lady commands,” He smirks and takes his chair beside her. 

Gendry’s position in the realm seemed perilous for quite some time. His birth had put him on the Dragon Queen’s list of potential usurpers but she had surprisingly legitimized him in an attempt to gain his continued loyalty. Gendry, however had had no desire to be the Lord of Storm’s End and upon discovering that his half-brother Edric Storm lived and would be the type of Lord to restore the Baratheon name, he formally requested that Daenerys legitimize him and give him Storm’s End instead. 

Daenerys hadn’t had a problem with this but she still worried about the potential threat that Gendry posed and it was known that she didn’t exactly approve of his continued presence at Winterfell, where her nephew and Sansa resided. Arya knew she regarded Jon as the most obvious threat by birth to her throne and that Sansa was easily the biggest political threat Daenerys had to worry about. Giving them the North and proposing their marriage seemed to be her attempt at placating them into submission but it was yet to be seen if her paranoia would drive her North any time soon to see how the Starks were managing without her supervision. 

All of this had allowed Gendry to stay in Winterfell and work in the smiths as he desired. It kept him close to the people he had come to care about most and it had kept him close to Arya. She might not always be willing to admit it, but if he had had to leave she isn’t sure she would’ve stayed in Winterfell herself. She had come to love him, quietly and between their own duty, their futures would be intertwined now. Despite this, his interruption was most untimely as he had just caused Arya to miss Sansa’s initial reaction to the letter. 

“Now shut up for a moment Gendry, I’m doing something important” Arya snarked.

Gendry’s interruption mattered little though because for once Sansa was as easy to read as she had been before all she had endured. Her emotions spilled out through every part of her body.

Lips pursed tight and skin paler than ever, Sansa was a portrait of obvious stress and anxiety. Her fingers seemed to grip the letter as if her life depended on it. Arya didn’t think she was crying but her eyes did seem to glisten. She didn’t appear to be breathing and the only part of her that moved was her eyes which rapidly dashed back and forth across the page in her grip. 

How nobody around her seemed to notice the Lady of Winterfell’s distress was lost on Arya but before she could properly react Gendry interrupted her again.

“Is your sister okay? What is that letter she’s reading, I haven’t seen her look that stressed since Daenerys was in the North,” He asked.

Arya quickly looked around and noted that the rest of the high table was engaged in discussions that kept them turned from Sansa and the hall was too boisterous to pay any mind to what was happening up there. In fact, the only other person who seemed to notice, besides Arya and Gendry, was baby Cat, who was being too long neglected by her preoccupied mother, in the high chair next to Sansa.

In a moment though Sansa regained her picture of calm. She slipped into the steel mask she had learned to wear during her time away from Winterfell as if she hadn’t looked on the verge of tears a moment before. It was something Arya admired in her sister but at this moment she wanted nothing more than to shake Sansa silly and demand to know what the letter could have said that made her so unnerved. 

“I don’t know Gendry but I imagine I’ll find out soon enough” Arya replied while contemplating her sister’s worrisome behaviour.

~~~

Sansa could feel her sister’s eyes on her through the rest of breakfast and realized that she had clearly been privy to her letter reading. Stupid, she thought, for her to allow herself to slip up so obviously like that in the Great Hall of all places, but luckily it seemed to be only Arya who had noticed anything was amiss because when she requested that Jon and Bran come to her chambers after breakfast they both looked perplexed.

“Why do we need to come right now Sansa, we are supposed to have that meeting with the Lords who are disputing farming land in an hour” Bran inquired.

And a quieter, “Is everything alright, love?” from Jon who just seemed bewildered.

But Arya was there in a moment to get the boys going.

“I would hope the two of you would learn by now that when Sansa says we need to do something it is better to listen first and ask questions later,” Arya rolls her eyes as they all start to stand up and push in their chairs. 

Sansa smiled at that, for her sister to come to her defence over something as small as a simple request was a far cry from the children they had been. It still amazed her how Arya had been her most ardent supporter when everything with Daenerys had gone down, despite their trust issues upon Arya’s arrival at Winterfell. 

Sansa grabbed Catelyn and lead them all out of the great hall and towards her chambers but stopped to let the Lords they had a meeting with that they may be slightly delayed, so they rescheduled for an early afternoon meeting instead. She dropped off Catelyn with the Septas before they got to her chambers and when they arrived she dismissed the handmaiden who had been fixing her rooms.

“You can finish this later Alys it’s no worries, I wasn’t expecting to have need of my chambers so soon, we will call on you to finish up once we are done,” She said.

The small girl Alys was blushing something horribly red from being in the presence of the entire Stark family but she made her leave quickly.

Sansa strode towards the window and looked out to the rain which had started coming down quite hard. She composed herself for a moment before turning to her siblings. 

“I received a letter this morning and it concerns all of us. What I tell you obviously should not leave this room until the four of us come to a conclusion on what should be done with this information, but we are going to have to decide quickly,” Sansa says all in one breath.

“What are you talking about, that letter Lyarra brought you this morning? What could be this serious,” Bran inquires with a look of genuine concern but also curiosity. 

“I knew there was something up from the moment Lyarra gave you that envelope and you tried to act like it was no big deal, you looked like you were about to tear the letter to shreds right there over your porridge” Arya says at the same time.

Jon crosses the room to Sansa and grabs her hands, “Is everything okay, are we in danger?” He says while looking around the room like he is ready to leap in front of a sword for any of them at a moment's notice.

Sansa withdraws one of her hands from Jon’s while giving him a look of resignation since she knows that what she is going to tell them may end this peace they have experienced for the last three years. As she reaches into her pocket for the letter she says,

“No, Jon we are not in immediate danger but this letter is likely going to change things around here and the contents themselves spell out the potential for treason. So yes it can be something that serious Bran, the thought of Lyarra even holding this paper gives me chills. And just be thankful only you noticed my behaviour Arya, this needs to be kept extremely quiet for the time being” She says dryly.

They all look at her expectantly and Jon squeezes her hand, encouraging her to do what she knows she must. 

“Let me read you the letter, although I’m not sure it’ll make any sense just yet.”

Sansa unfolds the letter and begins to read:

“Little Dove,

I hope this letter finds you safely. I write to request an audience with you on the anniversary of the night we sat in a tower while men decided our fate far below. Come at midnight. I request we meet in the spot our brothers once had a conversation about sisters, ask the crow and he will know. You have no reason to heed me but I would request as a show of good faith you come only with your husband, and unarmed. I promise you I mean you no harm although I understand that means little. You once watched me endure a wrath of fire and through our limited communication during that time I have come to believe that we have mutual interests and a common enemy that may be worth discussing. I hope to see you in a few weeks time”

There is a silence that follows and Jon and Bran look contemplative while all of a sudden Arya’s head snaps up.

“Little dove, is it…her?” The look on Arya’s face breaks Sansa’s heart and she knows it can only get worse from here. Arya’s face is slack and she looks stricken in a way Sansa hoped to never see her look again.

Sansa nods.

“I’m a bit lost but the bit about brothers, no it can’t be though, is it? The Kingslayer...and Cersei? They’re alive?” Jon grips Sansa’s arm again and looks around at the faces in the room. 

“It makes sense,” Bran rationalizes, “We knew they had to have gotten clean of Westeros but why come back now, why come back here where they know they have so many enemies”

“Desperation?” Sansa guesses, “The end of the letter, it’s the trial she’s talking about. I noticed her watching me throughout the whole thing, I didn’t understand it at the time, but I think…” Sansa has to prepare herself for what comes next.

“I think she picked up on my disdain for Daenerys, I was still openly upset about what Jon had felt he had to do to placate her, and what she had put the North through, I may not have been the best at hiding my emotions. And Cersei seems to believe that for whatever reason, we would have cause to join forces in an alliance against Daenerys, to oppose her rule” Sansa says.

“It would be treason,” Jon replies but there’s a hint of something self-deprecating underneath and Sansa knows that he’s thinking of his own deceptions, the ultimate treasons that the Dragon Queen is unaware of and would have Jon burnt for if she knew the truth. 

“We’ve all whispered it before, amongst ourselves, the North thrives and we are rebuilding but we know that the rest of the realm is beginning to suffer from Daenerys’ mismanagement. From what others say her temperament becomes more of a problem every day. She is not a good Queen and while I trust the Kingslayer little and Cersei less, this letter could be what we need to start moving against her,” Arya speaks carefully, and Sansa can tell she is gauging her sibling’s reactions to the words that could have Daenerys come North to bring down a death sentence if the wrong ears got wind. 

“I don’t like it,” Jon says. Bran and Arya look at him a bit mournfully but Sansa knew that he would not want to put their family at risk again, “However, Arya is right, Daenerys will likely become more unstable with time, and we’ve discussed this at length many times Sansa but without allies nothing will ever be possible, subtlety would be key and we would need to tread carefully as Drogon and Rhaegal still live. But I refuse to force you into reconciling with Cersei if it is something you feel you cannot do” Jon squeezes her arms and kisses her temple in support.

“The dragons do pose the greatest threat but we may be able to overcome that,” Bran says slowly.

“Even if Jon were to face Daenerys on Rhaegal, that guarantees nothing, not to mention it is a huge risk that puts Jon in severe danger,” Sansa snaps, although she knows that Bran meant nothing by it and was trying to be pragmatic, the thought of Jon on a dragon again just sends chills up her spine. 

A silence envelopes them all for a moment as they all absorb the gravity of this discussion.

Arya speaks next, “Sansa, it is up to you, do you think we can trust Cersei at all? You knew her best.”

Sansa looks to Jon, who has wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She takes in the looks of concern Bran and Arya are wearing and already recognizes that in the last twenty minutes they have all put on their war faces again, the pack is making a plan again. 

Once upon a time they were controlled by the decisions Ned and Catelyn Stark made for them, then they suffered the consequences of Robb’s war. Yet these are the wolves that remain. Sansa loved them all but their family had suffered for the mistakes they made, they had lost Rickon and almost each other. Her and Jon’s daughter flashes to her mind and she thinks about the friends Bran has made at court here in the last few years, and how he has come back from being the three eyed raven after the Night King was defeated. She thinks of everything she has seen between Gendry and Arya, the love they have found in one another. And she thinks of her marriage to Jon, the man she loves most and what they endured to get to where they are.  
She thinks she understands her parents better. Why they made those decisions years ago. She would do anything to protect the people in this room, to protect her daughter, to protect the people in Winterfell right now, and to protect the North.

So while trusting Cersei may be a risk, she knows that if they do not move against the Dragon Queen now they may never have a chance later. It is a risk she needs to be willing to take to protect the people she loves. She recalls Littlefinger’s words, “Every possible series of events is happening” and she knows that despite her resentment towards him he was right about this. Years ago the Lannisters had the advantage and they took too much from the Starks, but now the Lannisters are the ones disadvantaged, they are coming to the Starks. It is the same yet different. But she knows that it would not be the first time these houses put aside their differences to take down a Targaryen.

“Cersei will be ready to meet us in three days, that is the anniversary of the Battle of Blackwater that she speaks of, we best start planning how to proceed,” Sansa says with a slight smile.

Around her, three wolves nod, determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first fic I have published in eons and the first game of thrones work I have ever written. basically this idea has been brewing for ages and comes from 2 things I desperately wanted. first my desire to explore Daenerys' descent into "madness" and her fall from greatness if she was given more time to spiral. in this fic she did not burn the Tarlys or Kings Landing, only the soldiers in the field of fire (leaving the food unharmed). I believe that if she gained the throne, fairly easily, she would be placated for a while before her true tendencies started to show again. secondly, I desperately wanted Cersei and Sansa to team up haha, this fic will fulfill that for me. I fear my Cersei may be a bit out of character but I do hope that I am able to explain that she has changed in the 3 years since Dany took the throne.
> 
> Basically, I want to use this fic to explore what could've happened if Dany got the throne and everyone came together to take her down at a later time.
> 
> Also, this fic is Jonsa, and I plan to have cute and angsty moments but it is not the type of "jonsa fic" I myself would usually read, the relationship is established and there may be some flashbacks to feeling reveals etc but this fic is going to be mostly political with romance taking a back seat. That being said this fic will feature Cersei/Jaime so if that is not your jam I'm sorry haha but I love them so they will be there, but again this isn't a heavy romance fic.
> 
> Furthermore I should say that I don't know how frequent updates will be, I have a few more chapters written but not linearly, I wrote about 4 or 5 chapters right after season 8 ended of scenes that I wanted as a kind of catharsis but only just went back and edited and brushed up the first one tonight. So, if you like it give me a comment.
> 
> Also I'll say, Bran is no longer the three eyed raven, I'm basically saying it is a "enchantment" that has been broken when the Night King fell. As I said in the fic, Rhaegal is alive and so is Missandei. Varys and Tyrion are still with Daenerys, and Cersei and Jaime escaped to Essos (all of this will be expanded on as we go). Also, I alluded to the fact that Pol!Jon was real, and it was, again more to come later in the fic. Oh, Theon is alive, I don't have plans for him to have a large role but he is on the Iron Islands with Yara.
> 
> Anyways hope you enjoy this intro chapter


	2. love is the light, scaring darkness away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for all the support on the first chapter! quick heads up, I have actually outlined this fic now! Not sure on the exact amount of chapters, maybe 20-25. I have the next four chapters written but I'm going to only be uploading weekly in order to stay ahead since I'll be back at University this week. I'm going to update on Sundays from here on out :)

The day they come for Cersei, the sun is shining and the sky is clear as far as the eye can see. It seems cruel to her that the past catches up with them on a day when it seems she has her whole life ahead of her. 

In their small cottage in a small village a ways out of Lys, Cersei had woken slowly to the sun streaming through their open window. She had rolled over and saw Jaime laying in their shared bed, bathed in sunlight he looked a true lion of Lannister. It occurred to her that morning, as it had many times before, that all the thrones and riches in the world were not worth this.

All her life Cersei had sought power and sought to prove herself, to her father, to her brothers, to the Targaryens, to Robert, and to all the highborns at court throughout her time as Robert's queen. But coming to Essos was the first time she had truly done something for herself without an ulterior motive. The night Tyrion had aided in their escape had been one of several turning points in her life, but she knew it was the one which changed her the most.

When Jaime arrived and snuck into King’s Landing the Dragon Queen had already begun her siege. She was giving Cersei twenty four hours to surrender the city or risk the wrath of dragon fire. While she had always been confident in her army’s ability to take down the dragons, she could not deny the fear she felt seeing Drogon and Rhaegal fly around in the distance outside the city. 

Jaime had made all the difference. He had walked into the Red Keep like he had never left.

Qyburn had allowed Jaime in to see her when he arrived.

“Cersei, this is madness, do not let everything you’ve done in your life lead to this, to being burned alive with the people of this city. You can protect them, you can save yourself, save us,” Jaime had pleaded when he had been admitted to her chambers all those years ago.

She had snapped, “You left me Jaime, like you did when the Starks took you prisoner but this time you left willingly and for what?”

Jaime looked at her in the way that only her twin could. As if he was staring right into their entire shared past. He had always understood what she meant when she was saying the exact opposite. That she was sorry but that she was hurt, she was alone and scared and he had gone running off to the North to play the hero again.

“Cersei,” He said, while moving towards her and taking her in his arms gently, she went rigid but he continued, “everything I did was for you, to protect you. The fight against the dead…seeing that wight come at you in the dragonpit, it was something I could never unsee. If they had decimated the North they would eventually be here. They would take you, and our child with it. And I’m here now for the same reason. We can’t win against the Dragon Queen, you haven’t seen her dragons in action, but I have, twice. We will die if we stay here and fight, but if we surrender, we have the chance of mercy.”

“You think the Dragon Queen knows mercy? She is a Targaryen who will sooner burn us alive before she grants us a moment of weakness. She considers me a usurper who has committed the worst type of crime,” Cersei huffs, “Nothing matters more to her than the Iron Throne, nothing.”

Jaime lets Cersei go and heaves a sigh, “I’ve seen her in the North, you’re right, she’s ruthless and cruel, uncompromising and perhaps a bit mad but she wants to be loved, she wants to be adored, and that may give her pause.”

“She wants to be loved and yet she comes to Westeros and demands that we all give up any freedom to a foreign invader?”

“I had a lot of time to observe people when we were preparing for the battle, and afterwards. Nobody in the North unnerved that woman as much as Sansa Stark. She saw the adoration that the people of the North gave her, she saw the strength the Starks had when they stood together and it scares her, I think she knows she doesn’t have that, but she wants it, she just doesn’t know how to get it.”

Cersei considered him and in a rare moment of weakness, bred out of the years of stress since her children and father started dying, and the last months without Jaime, she collapsed into his chest and let out a long held sob. She felt as if she had been holding this in for years, since Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and Tywin (maybe since her mother, Lady Joanna) had all died, since she had to marry Robert instead of Rhaegar but really since the witch she had met in her youth. Cersei was tired and her fight was going out. 

“Don’t let me die Jaime, I don’t want to die,” Cersei had choked out.

In that moment she felt everything she had pushed down for so long. She was going to let Jaime protect her, she wouldn’t fight alone anymore she would let him hep her. It would be as it had when they were young, when it was the two of them and their schemes against marriages and later against Robert, or just how to get one more hour. But this time it was a fight for their lives. 

Jaime stroked her hair and lay a soft kiss on her head. 

“I won’t let them tear us apart,” He promised.

Of course, the Dragon Queen didn’t know what mercy was and she hadn’t for a long time. It had been a near miracle on Jon Snow’s part that Daenerys hadn’t stormed the city immediately and rained dragon fire upon the innocent and guilty alike. When Cersei and Jaime had exited King’s Landing hand in hand and made their way towards the encampment it was Jon who tempered Daenerys and kept Drogon and Rhaegal back from them, giving the Lannister twins just enough time to speak and surrender, it was a near thing. 

Cersei and Jaime had assumed that despite Daenerys’ threats she would harm only the red keep to take out the throne and leave the small people unharmed. But by surrendering Cersei had saved not only herself and Jaime but an entire city, it was not something the people were quick to forget. 

The trial had been a two day long sham. One day for Cersei and one for Jaime where they had to listen to the Dragon Queen recite every horrible thing each of them had ever done even though the majority of the crimes had never been against her or her family in the first place. The exception being Jaime killing Aerys, which he reminded her repeatedly that she had already pardoned him, when he had gone North, for that old betrayal. It did not matter to the Dragon Queen, she was set on vengeance. Jaime had told Cersei later that when he looked in her eyes he saw the old hint of King Aerys underneath. 

At the end of the second trial they were brought to their shared cell deep beneath the city and told to await their sentence, death by dragon fire, that would come early the next morning. 

Cersei and Jaime huddled in the corner of their cell, somehow at peace now that they were together. 

“She hates her nearly as much as I do,” Cersei mused.

“Who are you talking about now, sweet sister?” Jaime asked, clearly not following.

“The little dove, it’s so obvious. She became so good at concealing her feelings when I knew her but the open hostility she shows whenever the Targaryen bitch speaks is no secret, don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“You were really watching Sansa Stark while the Dragon Queen was sentencing us to die, that was your priority?”

Cersei considered Jaime from across the cell. 

“I treated that child horribly, I admit it. But sometimes I had wished things could’ve been different. That maybe if Joff had been not so cruel, if the damn prophecy had never been told to me, then maybe I could’ve come to see her as a daughter, maybe I could’ve taught her the subtleties of court life and how to play the game. Regardless, she seems to have learned well enough, undoubtedly from me and Littlefinger the most, and of course the Tyrell women were always flocking around her. She will control the entirety of the North when this is through and she might even get Jon Snow by her side if she plays things right with the Dragon Queen.” 

“Jon Snow...yes you're right about that,” Jaime chuckles under his breath. 

“Well yes, I do assume that is at least in part where her resentment stems from. Some unresolved feelings between the two of them. Perhaps she did learn more from me than I give her credit for, aye dear brother,” Cersei says with a raised eyebrow while entwining their fingers.

Jaime cracks a wry smile but says, “There were whispers around Winterfell and I managed to overhear a very interesting conversation between our brother and Lord Varys. They believe Jon Snow is no bastard but the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, they were very concerned what this would mean for their queen."

Cersei stands up, it’s as if everything falls into place in an instant.

“But that would make him the heir to the Iron Throne, why is it the Dragon Queen who’s still in power? Oh, if Robert had known this! He would’ve been furious, he never would’ve forgiven Ned, honourable Ned everyone always said, what fools we must have been, he had the true heir for years under everyone’s noses. And Catelyn couldn’t have known the truth she wouldn’t have hated him so if she did.”

“Well I imagine Daenerys’ hold on power comes from the fact that she still holds the dragons remember,” Jaime sighs. 

Cersei comes to sit back beside Jaime and pulls herself to him, “Well I guess that does make anything happening between the little dove and the bastard only half as interesting, if they are merely cousins.”

Jaime laughs and pulls her into a kiss on their last night together.

It is hours later when Tyrion comes for them. They were not able to sleep of course for fear of what the morning would bring and instead laid together all wrapped up in each other one last time. They occasionally whispered small words of comfort or recalled fond memories but they spent the majority of the time just staring at one another, trying to be strong for the other.

Then, Tyrion and Bronn had come in with lanterns and demanded that they leave immediately.

“We have to go now my sweet brother and sister or else my Queen will be very angry with me come morning, my alibi is only good for so long,” Tyrion had said upon reaching their cell. 

Jaime and Cersei were both stunned but on their feet in a moment. 

“I have everything arranged, you have passage on a boat to Lys leaving in half an hour, over a dozen ships are leaving or have left in the time you are supposed to have been confined here since leaving the trial, it will be impossible for Daenerys to tell which one you took. If I plant a false trail it should keep her well away from your true journey point. I have a small bag of clothes and disguises for you. You’ll travel as husband and wife, of course, it is easiest. Cersei keep your hair covered, and Jaime keep your hand out of sight. This money should be enough to get you there and keep you settled for over a year but you will both have to find work if you intend to stay in Lys long term, now here change quickly,” He said all of this while unlocking their cell and making his way to his siblings, he pulled out bags and clothes for them and passed them a heavy sack of coins and some new boots for the both of them.

“How are we supposed to trust you Tyrion?” Cersei snapped out of her daze.

“Cersei we don’t have the time we-” Jaime started but he was interrupted.

Tyrion turned to face his sister head on.

“It’s no secret there is no lost love between us Cersei but I’ve told you time and time again I have no wish to see the end of my family. I do not agree with all Daenerys has done but I think she may be a good queen one day. I hope to be a good hand and maybe even a good man. I told you once that you’ll never know how sorry I am for Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, but this is me trying to make amends for that. I’m giving you and my brother, who I do love dearly, a chance at freedom, and for your child yet to come. You must flee now if you hope to go undetected. I will find some way to contact you when it’s safe, but go now, Bronn will take you to the docks. Start a new life far from here.”

Cersei looked shocked but she quickly put on the clothes he had brought and made to leave with Jaime. She took his hand and started to follow Bronn out of their cell but she turned back once.

“Tyrion, thank you, truly.”

All of that felt so long ago, it was almost a dream to Cersei. So much had changed in their time in Essos. Their journey had been largely boring but stressful all the same. They worried that someone would recognize them or give them up to the Dragon Queen. But they had made it. By the time they arrived Cersei was starting to show her pregnancy and they just allowed people to believe that they were a couple wed later in life looking to settle in the surrounding villages around Lys.

Jaime had found work quickly with a city guard but kept a low profile to avoid letting people know that he had a hand missing. Their faces may blend in to the many people who have blonde hair and light eyes here but the one hand could still pose a risk. Cersei had found work sewing and cleaning, jobs that she had long disdained and seen as lesser but in this new life she soon became thankful for the simplicity.

When she gave birth months later it was to her surprise, not one but two children who came along. Twins, like her and Jaime, a girl and a boy. Something catches in her throat when she realizes but Jaime is there reassuring her.

“They won’t be like us, they’ll be good, we will make sure of it.”

Seeing Jaime become the father he was never able to be to their other children fills something in Cersei she didn’t realize she had been missing. They name their children Joanna, after their mother, and Ciseron, a name with no past, as part of their fresh start. 

The years after that pass with little remarkable things to make note of but Cersei feels herself change. She is no longer the woman who is hellbent on seizing the Iron Throne. She focuses on Jaime, on her children. She feels herself lighten. She knows she cannot escape all she has done, and it is a lot, but she thinks maybe she sees herself more fairly. She allows herself to consider all that Robert did to her and all her father put her through. She mostly makes peace with the past and is better for it. 

So that morning with the sun streaming in to her bedroom doesn’t seem to mean anything at first sight. 

Her family had enjoyed a quiet morning, Cersei and Jaime are both not working and they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with their young children. Cersei had plans, with some of the women she sews with, to have lunch at a local pub they enjoy and she takes her leave not long afterwards.

Cersei had never had many female friends growing up, not since the prophecy at least. And she had always known most of the women at court at least mildly resented her as the Queen. But she had a small circle she enjoyed her time with here in Lys. 

She is sitting at the table not hearing what Ammi was saying about one of the noble ladies she embroiders for when they enter the pub. She recognizes them immediately. They have Targaryen sigils on their breast plates and they carry the look of Westerosi knights. She stiffens but opens her ears instantly, while angling her body and face away from them.

“Surely we will find them tomorrow, the Queen is certain they are in Lys now,” One says. 

“The Queen has been certain many times before this and we’ve turned up empty handed, I think that her sources are becoming more and more far fetched,” Another pipes up.

“We can worry about it tomorrow boys, after all this travel I’m ready for a hot meal and a tight woman for my bed tonight. Tomorrow we find the lion twins or not, what Queen Daenerys doesn’t know about our delay won’t hurt her” A third finishes, and the group moves across the pub. 

“Sicilia, hello, are you there? Hello?” Ammi says while waving a hand in front of Cersei’s face. She couldn’t go by her name here of course and had been going by Sicilia for years but in this moment it took her a few seconds to realize who Ammi referred to. She had been transported instantly back to Westeros upon seeing these knights. There were Westerosi knights here, looking for her and Jaime, in their safe haven. And there had been no word from Tyrion.

Cersei recovers herself and looks around at the women around her. She jumps up and says, “I’m sorry ladies I simply forgot I must get to this market stall before it closes, I promised Jaime fresh lemons tonight with our meal. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for work?” and she runs out of the pub.

She walks as quickly as she can back to her cottage with Jaime without arousing suspicion from those travelling around her. She thinks through everything they must do and the time it will take, time they don’t have. She is furious, knowing they should never have trusted Tyrion. He had sent them a handful of letters over the years and they had only ever sent him one in return, coded, just to confirm to him that they were in fact receiving them. He has kept them up to date on where Daenerys looked for them but Cersei knew that his control would not last forever, that Daenerys would soon grow to be unmanageable, like her dragons. 

As she sees their cottage she breaks into a full sprint as there are no more people around and as she runs up their lane she almost crashes head first into Jaime. 

He is out of breath and panting, “Letter. Tyrion. Westerosi knights. Daenerys’ men, here for us”

She grabs him and they both run towards the house, “I know they’re here in the pub, they said that they were going to wait until tomorrow to start searching but we have to leave Jaime, and quickly, get the children ready, we’ll have to get a horse and cart and make it to the ports by tonight it’ll be close. I’ll start packing right now”

They’re both at the house now and he grabs her and pulls her close. 

“You know I won’t let them do anything to us right, you know I’ll protect you, and our children,” He has the look of a desperate man. 

She kisses him quickly on the lips, “I would expect nothing less brother.”

They make it onto the last ship leaving the port that night and it’s lucky that it is headed to where Cersei has decided they need to head. North. 

Leaving was a flurry of activities. Jaime and her packed all the food and clothes they could and readied their children, he bought a horse and cart within the hour and they were on the road without a glance back before a second hour was up. 

The entire time Cersei had been thinking of where they could go. Obviously staying in Essos was too dangerous with these men on their trail. Getting on a ship was safer, especially from a port where dozens of ships leave every day, untraceable, as Tyrion had tried to make them when they first left. She had come to the conclusion when she glanced out the window and saw two doves fly past, the answer was staring her in the face. 

Jaime had shown her briefly the letter that Tyrion had sent, warning them to leave Lys that Daenerys was sending people to look for them and that his position was in danger. The Dragon Queen, it seemed, was becoming as paranoid as her father before her. It still surprised Cersei, Tyrion’s loyalty to her and Jaime but again she was thankful.

When they were on the road she started composing her letter.

“What could you possibly be writing at this moment,” Jaime asked.

Cersei looked at their children. They had been given a sleeping medicine after their parents explained to them quickly that bad people were coming for them and that they must leave the city quickly. They were peaceful in this moment, she hoped they would have that peace again despite the road ahead. 

“Where do you think we can go Jaime. Nowhere is safe for us now. Lys was safe, it had been for years but the Dragon Queen is here. We don’t know the rest of Essos and we are being driven back to Westeros, to her domain. We need to be clever we need to think like father would,” Her eyes never wavered from her children, all of this, what was to come, would be for them.

Jaime looked worried, like he was seeing a ghost more like, hesitantly he said, “Cersei, we can’t chase that throne, the time has passed. I understand that we are in trouble but the throne only brought about Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen’s death. We need to protect Joanna and Ciseron a different way, a better way.”

“I don’t want a damn throne Jaime, I want what is ours. I want the Rock.”

The silence hung between them at that proclamation. It had been a dream for years. Ever since they had both lived in King’s Landing it had been a dream to get back to Casterly Rock to claim their birthright. It was the one place they had known peace, before Lys at least. After they had come here they had talked about it on cold nights when they missed their old lives. 

“She will never just give us the Rock and let us live in peace Cersei,” Jaime says.

“Of course she won’t. But judging by the letters Tyrion has sent, Westeros is not satisfied with their new Queen and she may not be long to rule. If we make the right allies we could end up with the Rock, with peace in Westeros for our children, our grandchildren and us, we could live unbothered. We would need the right ruler and the Dragon Queen must be taken out. But I’m willing to go through this once more, if we do it right.”

“You’ve figured it all out in the time since you saw the Knights in the pub haven’t you,” Jaime says knowingly, Cersei's mind had always impressed him. 

“Of course brother, you know me well.”

“Well then who are you writing to, who will be our saviour in all of this?”

Cersei looks Jaime right in the eye, “Sansa Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU again to everyone who gave such great support on the first chapter. 
> 
> Two quick things: Tyrion has moments of goodness here, but I plan to examine his complicity and give his character consequences as the fic plays out, this won't be Tyrion friendly but I think it will be fair. Also, some people may find it unrealistic the changes Cersei has undergone, I hope that I made her thought process clear, I do believe that if Cersei had escaped with Jaime (before marrying Robert) she would've been much like she will in this fic, and I think that given the chance and time she could find peace with herself, but again it will not be easy for her, she will struggle when she is in Westeros.
> 
> Also, this story will use whichever perspectives are required but the main three will be Sansa, Cersei, and Daenerys, with others sprinkled in here and there (I briefly used Arya in the first chapter). The next chapter will be from Dany's perspective and then we head back to Winterfell. 
> 
> Thanks again for everyone's support!


	3. queen by fear and fable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm super excited for this chapter hope you enjoy :)

In the years since she had taken the throne Daenerys had grown weary, not of being Queen but from the responsibilities laid out before her. Her time in Essos was so sought with strife that she had little time to fully consider the everyday concerns of the people. She was in a constant state of fight or flight. The relative peace of Westeros made her anxious, she stewed.

She had taken time in the throne room today, as she does every week in order to hear the complaints of her people, mostly they involved land claims, petty disputes between lesser houses, and help with marriage arrangements. Daenerys had come to realize that she had no interest in this part of ruling but she also knew that it was what she must do. Somehow she had always imagined it to be more glamorous, she had spent years imagining this, and working for it and it seemed almost boring now.

This was how she found herself, burnt out from the days labours and the small peoples’ complaints, alone in her chambers. She had even sent Missandei away. She found herself doing that more and more, she sought out solitude because what everyone said to her made her more and more frustrated with each passing day, sometimes it felt like she could only trust herself. 

She made her way to her window that overlooked King’s Landing with a glass of wine and contemplated her kingdom. 

In the years since taking the throne the Kingdom had been trying to rebuild and stabilize but she left most of that work to Tyrion, Varys and her small council. She heard complaints about failed crops and complaints from farms around King’s Landing if Drogon or Rhaegal ate some of their livestock. But really Daenerys considered these to be petty concerns, there true queen was on the throne and the kingdom was at the best it had been in ages, they didn’t suffer under the Baratheon usurper or that horrible woman Cersei and her spawn any longer, they should be eternally grateful.

Cersei though. It was a loose end that Daenerys despised. She had sent some of her strongest knights to Lys on a whim from a passing merchant who had come to her with the belief he had spotted Cersei and Jaime in the city. It was an act of desperation but the man was Westerosi born, had lived in King’s Landing and recognized the twins, if his travels brought them into contact it was not an opportunity that she was willing to pass up.

The thought of Cersei living in peace, even leagues away and out of her control, was enough to drive Daenerys into a day long spiral. She still regretted listening to Jon Snow on the day they surrendered.  
She had been in her tent outside the city. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, and the Starks minus Bran had all been with her in the tent discussing battle plans when one of the unsullied came bursting in.

They had been arguing again, Daenerys wanted to storm the city with her dragons, she thought that it would make the quickest work and would guarantee that Cersei dies once and for all. Her advisors thought differently and agreed with Jon of all people that they should seize the city in a method that brings less potential harm to the civilians. Daenerys simply saw them as a necessary sacrifice to bring Westeros their rightful queen. 

“We’ve been over this, the dragon’s flames are unpredictable, you have some control over them but the risk is too great,” Said Tyrion while pinching his nose.

“And we are at war. People die at war, your sister blew up an entire sept, are you telling me no innocent people died in that massacre?” Daenerys countered.

“Your grace, with all respect, you came to Westeros and desired to be greater than Cersei Lannister, how does burning a city make you any better than her, in fact it really sound as if it could cause more damage than Cersei ever has,” Sansa Stark piped up, in a steadily grating voice. 

Daenerys closed her eyes and took a breath, “I would think you more than anyone would know what Cersei is capable of and would be on my side in this, she deserves to be punished.”

“I’m not saying that she doesn’t—” Sansa was mercifully interrupted by a sound from outside. 

Sansa grated on Daenerys. Before they had arrived in Winterfell it was true that Jon had spoke little about his family. She knew the Stark parents were dead as were his brothers Robb and Rickon. He had mentioned that he knew Theon when he came to Dragonstone and there had been passing comments on Bran and Arya when he found out they were alive.

But with Sansa he had been so tightlipped. Most of what she had learned had come from Tyrion and Varys. Tyrion had called her gentle and soft like a flower but had admitted that what she had experienced had a hand in making her hard and closed off. She also found out that she had been the most adverse to Jon’s bastard status. Daenerys herself was above such petty birth distinctions and thought this woman must be cruel to treat her own brother like that. Because of this she had long assumed they did not get along, that Jon resented her and they had worked together to get back Winterfell out of pure necessity. 

That had been her assumption until one night shortly after word of Bran and Arya’s survival had reached them. All of them at Dragonstone had been discussing the logistics of what would happen after the war was won. 

“Well with Bran back you are free to do as you please, he will take over as Lord of Winterfell,” Daenerys mused. At the time she was still nursing the hope that Jon would come south, that he would take the Iron Throne by her side. 

Jon didn’t react but Tyrion chuckled, “Of course we’ll have to sort Sansa out too, I don’t think that our marriage was ever annulled you know.”

Daenerys noted that Jon tensed but he still remained silent.

“From what I remember of your sister Arya though I doubt she will ever be the type to settle down and marry herself, she will probably fly off to Essos the moment someone suggests the prospect,” Tyrion continued. 

Davos spoke up at that moment, “Well based on this letter it is my understanding that Sansa is still the Lady of Winterfell in Jon’s absence, it is she who sent the letter and not Bran, he is likely much changed from his time beyond the wall.”

Daenerys didn’t notice that Jon’s eyes flashed in a silent warning to Davos at the time but it is something that Tyrion brought to her attention when they discussed it later. 

“Sansa cannot rule the North when her trueborn brother lives, that is the law of Westeros. We can annul the marriage to Tyrion and make her a marriage to seal some favourable alliance when we need allies to take down Cersei,” Daenerys said simply.

Jon had stood up instantly at her words.

“Nobody will make Sansa marry without her consent. Not now and not in the future.”

The anger that Daenerys saw shocked her. It was the most Jon had emoted in all his time on Dragonstone and the rest of the table seemed to notice this too. Everyone seemed shocked but she noticed that Varys looked contemplative, as if something might be becoming clearer to him in that moment. 

In the silence they could hear Jon’s heavy breaths and despite herself Daenerys felt herself aroused at the noise. The way this man moved her and distracted her was dangerous to be sure, but she found herself imagining them making those noises together. 

She had thought his response odd at the time but dismissed it as the care of a brother who had seen his sister used one too many times. 

When they had made it back to Winterfell Daenerys believed they had it all tied up. It came crashing down quickly. Jon was inextricable from his siblings. He was short with her and refused to touch her or come to her chambers. Oddly enough he seemed closest with Sansa, she noticed them disappearing around corners more than once and they seemed extremely adept at communicating non-verbally in a room full of people. 

When Jon had come to her with the truth about his parentage, everything had seemingly made sense. She understood why he had withdrawn, he thought that the blood relation would disgust her, but in her mind it proved that they were meant to be together. She had tried to explain to him about the blood of the dragon, how they were chosen, but he still refused to listen and the distance between them had grown greater. She must admit she had been a bit worried about a contest of claim but if he was the illegitimate son of her brother she still was the rightful heir, he would be a fool to contest this. 

These thoughts raced through Daenerys’ head as she considered Sansa’s disagreement with her and the commotion outside the tent. 

“Your grace, come quick you must see this,” The soldier who stumbled in looked urgent.

They all filed out of the tent and the scene that greeted Daenerys enraged her.

Jaime and Cersei Lannister were at the entrance to the camp, hand in hand. Their other hands were raised in a sign of surrender. The audacity they had to walk in here like that, it was infuriating. 

She looked quickly around, “Drogon, where is Drogon?”

She felt a hand grasp her shoulder and turn her around. 

“Dany, don’t do this, they are surrendering look at them,” She came face to face with Jon, it was the closest they had been in many moons, since he came to her chambers on the boat. 

It was the most affection he had shown her in ages and something in her softened. Maybe she could still have it all, the throne was in her grasp and Jon would join her, maybe he had come around to his Targaryen heritage. 

She raised her hand, “Seize them and contain them in any way you must, we march to take the Red Keep immediately.”

It had been her greatest moment of weakness and in all honesty foolishness. For a moment she was the girl she was when Viserys had lived, full of ideals and fantasies of what it was to be a princess, to be a queen. She had let her lingering affection for him taint her mind and it had cost her too much.

Cersei and Jaime’s escape had been an error of ridiculous proportions. She had burned so many guards and people of the castle. Her first thought had been Tyrion, but somehow he had an airtight alibi with many people to vouch for him, it was not something that would’ve held up under scrutiny with so many people speaking for him, if he had bought them. After that had been extinguished she became convinced that someone in the castle must still be loyal to the Lannisters, those she did not burn she expelled from the city and made sure that everyone allowed in the castle from that point on was only loyal to her. 

That hadn’t been the only problem though. As Daenerys looked over King’s Landing she couldn’t help but turn her gaze North. Somewhere out there, Sansa lived in peace, she had her husband her family and her home. She was loved and songs of her beauty and kindness reached her even here in the capital.

It incensed her. Daenerys had fear and respect but Sansa had gained love. Even that of Jon. It was desperately unfair and it was not something that Daenerys was quick to forget. More mistakes on her part. 

After Jaime and Cersei had escaped and they had got to work on sorting out the Kingdoms, Daenerys felt that her grip here was tenuous. Nobody openly opposed her but they challenged her and she did not like it. All the great houses had gathered to decide how the Kingdoms would be ruled after these wars. 

Between the Greyjoys, Martells, Tyrells, Tullys, Arryns, and Starks, Daenerys had felt so out of her league. It seemed that the politics and history in Westeros were much more complex than she had every been led to believe. Her head spun after every meeting and she felt if they did not sort things out then they would all come together to overthrow her. 

For so long her quest had been to seize the throne, now that she had it, the thought of losing it terrified her. It was during this time she felt weakest. If she lost everything so quickly after gaining it she didn’t know what she would do.

It was this fear that had allowed her to grant things that she didn’t feel obligated to, the houses took more than what she thought they needed. 

In the end the Kingdoms had looked like this. Yara and Theon would rule the Iron Islands together. Robin Arryn would keep control of the Vale while Edmure Tully would restore Riverrun. The Martells had found their beloved Arianne and would allow her to rule in Dorne. A Tyrell relative was being raised up to take control of Highgarden and Tyrion had put Casterly Rock in control of some Lannister cousin. Gendry had come forward and asked that his bastard brother Edric Storm be raised up as the Lord of Storm’s End instead of himself. This had worried Daenerys the most, two known Baratheon bastards being legitimized and who knew how many more were out there. But again she had been terrified of losing power and neither of them seemed at all interested in the throne.

This had left the talks of the North until the end. There had been a lot of back and forth. Bran had spoken three times on why he had no interest in being Lord of Winterfell and why he felt that it was best left to Sansa. 

Arianne had come to Sansa’s defense, “Dornish law has allowed women to rule for centuries, and if Bran is abdicating his birthright than the seat is Sansa’s by right, I don’t understand why this is such a debate, she’s the one who won Winterfell back in the first place.”

This annoyed Daenerys, that victory should go to Jon should it not? He is the fighter the warrior. She knows that Sansa brought the Knights of the Vale but she wasn’t the one risking her life. 

But truthfully, as little as she liked Sansa she had no real issue with Sansa ruling in the North, Bran seemed ill-equipped for the task and he had told them he had no interest in the claim. She just wanted a resolution to this and to take her throne in peace.

The rest of the Lords of Westeros had finally agreed that Sansa ruling the North as Wardeness would be agreeable when Varys spoke up for the first time.

“I am all for Sansa taking control of Winterfell but does it not worry the rest of the Starks that when she takes a husband she may run the risk of a challenge to their ancestral home?” Varys said as if he wasn’t intentionally stirring the pot. 

“She doesn’t need to marry if she doesn’t want to, she could name any of her siblings children as heir,” Yara said. 

“And they can take her name as signified by rank, it is how we do it in Dorne,” Arianne agreed. 

“Yes but powerful men often get into their heads that they can subdue the women they marry, him or any of his relatives could one day press a claim to Winterfell through this marriage. I only bring it up knowing how hard the Starks have fought for the North, I assume you want it as secure as possible,” Varys responded.

Daenerys watched these events unfold with much interest. She was reminded of Jon’s insistence that nobody would make Sansa marry unless she wanted to and it was Daenerys’ private belief that Sansa would be able to choose a man wise enough to not contest her claim. Still, the conversation was illuminating to how the people of Westeros viewed lineage and claims. 

Daenerys watched as many of the heads turned to Sansa. Sansa’s eyes flashed to Bran and Arya, both of who looked expressionless but she thought she saw resolve flicker in Arya’s. Sansa turned minutely to Jon and their eyes connected for one moment, he nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Daenerys was sure she was the only one who had caught the interaction, perhaps because she was always more aware of Jon, but it was curious. 

“I do plan to marry, continuing the Stark line is of utmost importance to solidify and continue our claim in the North. But I do not think a usurpation will be a concern,” She said while looking around the circle at everyone gathered. 

“But how can you assure that whoever you marry, or even his relatives will not rise up, now or down the road,” Varys challenged again. Daenerys could not believe his inability to let this issue rest and had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

There were murmurs around the circle but then Sansa spoke, “Well, I will marry Jon and the issue will be quite moot I think,” She couldn’t quite keep a slight smirk off her face.

You could hear a pin drop, Sansa Stark had shocked everyone in the circle besides the other Starks and Jon himself. 

“But he is your brother!” Young Robin Arryn spoke up for once.

“He is not, he is my cousin. My father concealed his birth to protect him but he is the son of my Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen, we have a record of the birth,” Sansa explained simply. 

Daenerys was barely keeping it together. It seemed like every pair of eyes was trained on her. Until this moment the only ones who knew Jon’s birth were the Starks and those most loyal to her, she had hoped to keep it hidden from Westeros at large and Jon had assured her he had no desire for people to know the truth of his birth.

“Our marriage will give him the Stark name and will assure anyone who may wish to see a different Targaryen on the throne that we are loyal to Daenerys, it rescinds any small claim he has even as a bastard,” Sansa continues. 

“I have no interest in ruling, but it is the best way to assure anyone who might get the idea they can use my name to overthrow Daenerys. Taking the Stark name will discard any Targaryen heritage I have, people will see me as a Stark through and through,” Jon nodded.

They had this planned, that much was clear.

“You can’t,” Daenerys finally blurts out, “It’s too much of a risk, now that people know his birth someone will always hope to see him on the throne, I would be a fool to allow Jon to recede to the North where he might be able to act at any time.”

Daenerys head had spun, this turn of events made her head spin. She wanted her dragons. She wanted to silence Sansa Stark, all the Starks and the rest who had heard about Jon’s parentage. It could ruin everything.

“Daenerys, can we please speak alone for a moment,” Jon had stood up.

All eyes were on her and she found that she had allowed herself to be lead into another chamber more private. 

Daenerys was vibrating, the rage she felt wasn’t allowing her to form any coherent thoughts beyond the fact that the Starks would win, if she didn’t stop this they would win.

“Was it your plan all along? Before you came to Dragonstone? Did you know all along that you loved her, was any of it ever real?” Daenerys hated the way her voice broke despite her anger. She felt on the edge, losing her grip.

“Dany… Please—”  
“Don’t call me that” Daenerys interrupts. Him saying that, in that tone, it instantly transported her back to a time when she had killed Viserys, the power she had felt in that moment, it was unlike anything she had had before, and suddenly she wanted it again.

“None of you will leave here, you and Sansa, your siblings, it’s over. I’ll burn you myself, to humiliate and challenge me like that in front of all the noble houses of Westeros? What was she thinking, what were you thinking, that it would actually work? I’ll raise up a new family in the North, it doesn’t even matter”

“Daenerys, listen—” Jon started again.

“Half the kingdom thinks you’re poised to marry me, to be my King Jon. What a joke. Everyone talks about how you bent the knee for me, the ‘beautiful Dragon Queen’ but it was always her wasn’t it, the woman you thought your sister? I can’t even stand to look at you Jon,” She had started moving around the room, increasingly erratic and getting worked up.

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s done, they know,” Jon said and hung his head.

Daenerys looked at him, shocked at how calm he was.

“You won’t kill us Daenerys. When we go back out there, if you don’t let me marry Sansa, and promise to give us the North and leave us unbothered, I’ll tell them the truth. You don’t even know. We have proof that Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia, I’m a trueborn Targaryen and my claim usurps yours. If you kill me here and now, Sansa will tell them, it will spread. Everyone will know and there will always be whispers, let us go now in peace and I’ll not breathe a word, I’ll be the Stark I’ve always wanted to be,” Jon finishes and looks her square on, no longer worried.

Daenerys was stunned into silence.

It took her a few minutes to absorb everything that just happened but in the end she relened, her anger from moments before is replaced by cold dread a fear, a claim that truly usurps her own, it is her worst nightmare. And she suddenly has no doubt that if people knew they would choose Jon, choose him a hundred times over.

Daenerys stirs from her thoughts and pours herself more wine. These thoughts plague her. She’s still contemplating the North. She is the Queen and yet she feels that she has enemies everywhere, her kingdoms are restless and she worries about the North especially. Cersei and Jaime are free somewhere and she even starts to suspect those in her castle.  
She sees Rhaegal taking to the skies just outside the city and thanks the gods that she at least still has her dragons. Rhaegal and Drogon will be with her always, even with the loss of Viserion she has the blood of the dragon.

When Daenerys had come back to the high borns of Westeros she had felt like a girl being cowed. She was quiet and reserved, agreeing to everything Jon and Sansa had wanted. Sansa had looked so smug too, she wanted to slap the smirk off her face but she knew she couldn't. 

When they all left King's Landing to their respective kingdoms Daenerys had never felt more alone or more empty despite having what she always wanted. 

Three years later she stood in her chambers and realized that not much had changed, she felt... restless. And when a dragon is restless, well, not many are still alive to tell those stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Dany doesn't just threaten to reign dragon fire down on them when she is so scared by the lords and ladies of Westeros, I do believe that Dany WANTS to be good but she fails to do so again and again. In this moment I tried to portray that she realizes if she simply burns those who dissent she will lose the throne, at the time it is enough to keep her in control, like I said, I want the descent to be slow so she only loses it in stages.


	4. rather be a riot than indifferent

Three days later, on the dawn of the morning Cersei was supposed to meet them, Sansa was awoken to Cat fussing. By the time she had gotten out of bed over to the crib she had self-soothed and was sleeping peacefully again, but Sansa knew she herself wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep again. She’d been up for less than five minutes but her mind was racing. 

Before she made her way back to bed she paused and glanced at Cat’s now peaceful face. The last three days had been hectic and stressful but she knew that when she looked at Cat, the decision to allow Cersei back into her life had really been simple.

Daenerys was a threat. It didn’t matter that up in the safety of Winterfell they could go days without thinking about her and weeks without mentioning her name. She always wriggled into the back of their minds. It would come upon her at the most peculiar of times. Sansa would be out in the godswood and she would suddenly be transported back to the night they killed the Night King. How she had watched Jon and Daenerys on their dragons and she felt in her gut that someone she loved, or perhaps all of them would die, if not that night then at some point because when she saw the dragons though it wasn’t the white walkers that scared her, it was the undiluted power that she saw Daenerys wield. 

She had been wrong, at least for a time, and they had all survived that horrible night. Bran had been able to warg in and out of  
Viserion and turn the tables in their favour. He had worked with Arya and Theon to take down the Night King and despite his injuries, Theon recovered. 

But Daenerys remained. They had survived, only to allow an unstable and sometimes tyrannical woman seize all of Westeros. It was something Sansa couldn't help but blame herself for. She had spent nights awake wondering how to take down Daenerys, but the dragons...they posed too much of a problem. In comparison, Cersei was nothing now. Sansa knew that Cersei had no power, that she had surrendered her influence when she escaped King’s Landing. If Cersei came to Winterfell and they decided to not work with her, they could have them quietly killed or turn them over to Daenerys as traitors, there was little risk with hearing what Cersei had to say. Yet still she worried.

In all honesty Sansa had always had a small hope that Cersei and Jaime had died, somewhere on their journey, succumbing to natural causes after a life of living as pampered high borns. But when she received the letter, she realized she’d been in denial, a part of her always knew Cersei would make it out. Cersei is a survivor, just like her. 

Sansa shook her head and made her way back to the warmth of her bed where she realized that Jon was stirring.

She slipped into bed and Jon rolled over to pull her close. With his arm around her and his body curled against her, she felt safe, like nothing could touch them if they just stayed in this bed. 

“Good morning my love, how's our daughter?” Jon whispered into her ear.

“She fell back asleep before I even got to her, she must have just been dreaming.”

“Mhmm,” Jon murmured, still in the throws of sleep.

Sansa lay there for a few more minutes in silence and felt Jon’s steady breathing behind her. She had thought he had fallen back into a doze when he spoke again. 

“Are you worried about tonight? You feel so tense,” He said and pulled her a bit closer. 

Sansa rolled over so they were facing each other.

“Cersei has nothing, she will come here with Jaime, alone. I know she can’t hurt me anymore, I have our pack and she is not even a lioness of the Rock anymore, Casterly Rock doesn't stand behind her.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be worried,” Jon says while running his fingers up and down her hip, trying to calm her. 

“It’s just… Cersei always has an angle. She’s always playing the game and I’m worried that if I think of her as this weak and wounded woman that ran away with her tail between her legs that she will get one over on us, I don’t know how or why but it just feels like I’m letting my guard down even when I know I’m not.”

Jon considers her in silence for a few moments and now fully awake, “Sansa, this is the woman who made your childhood hell, who tormented and manipulated you for years. She stood by and watched her son torture you. She was a part of what destroyed our family and you lived with her for years. If any of it is too much—”

“Jon, we’ve been over this I’m fine, it’s just hard. I need to do this, for myself, to prove I’m strong enough” Sansa said firmly. 

“You’re the strongest person I know Sansa. You’ve been through so much and you’re so gentle, so kind. I see you with our daughter and I feel more love for the both of you than I knew I was capable of and more than I thought I would ever deserve. Don’t let Cersei Lannister dictate your strength to you. You once told me that you learned from her and I don’t deny it, but more than anything you learned how not to be, you took her lessons and used them for good. You’re so good, my love. I love you,” Jon had sat up while saying this and had taken Sansa with him, he held her in his arms and kissed her hair. 

“I’m so lucky Jon, we are so lucky. All of us, you and me, Arya and Bran. For all of us to be back in Winterfell feels like a miracle. It’s been years but it sometimes still feels like a dream. All I want to do is protect that, to protect our family and if I have to work with Cersei to do that then I will. Because if we don’t take down Daenerys now we will regret it later. I have dreams of us years from now, with a brood of children, and Daenerys growing more paranoid and more dangerous with her power. I have dreams of our family being torn apart like we all were when we left Winterfell years ago. I won’t let that happen,” Sansa’s voice found resolve as she spoke and by the end she is looking at Jon with a look blazing, not unlike when, ages ago she had told him they had to take back Winterfell, that they had to save Rickon. His look told her then that he had forgotten how far Sansa will go for them, the last of the Starks.

"You're the she-wolf of Winterfell, I know you won't let anything happen to us now," Jon says and takes her face in his hands, "And I won't let anything happen to you, but promise me you'll tell me if it's too much." 

"I promise Jon," Sansa says, closing the distance between their lips. 

They collide and Jon pulls her close, he can still make her stomach swoop and she feels herself let go of her worries while he pulls her closer. 

“I love you Sansa, so much,” he breaks the kiss, “We will listen to Cersei tonight and then decide what to do, but we will do it together, as we always have.”

Later that day Sansa, Jon, Gendry, Arya, Bran, and Brienne all gathered in Jon and Sansa’s chamber to go over the plan once more. It’s not that the plan was complicated but they all have this nervous energy about them and the need to talk about this evening was bubbling inside all of them. 

After the Starks had come to a consensus on the letter a few days ago Sansa had immediately gone to Brienne in order to fill her in on what was happening. Brienne had remained with them in Winterfell all these years and was the Captain of their guard. She was a most loyal advisor and Sansa trusted nobody more to protect her if it came to a fight. 

Brienne had been wary but understood why Sansa wanted to meet with the Lannister twins. She had tried to insist that Sansa allow her to accompany them to the meeting but Sansa knew about Brienne’s history with Jaime and she wanted Brienne out of the way when the initial conversations were happening. She agreed to allow Brienne a different role in the plan instead and she was placated enough to not push the issue. 

Arya had insisted that she needed to tell Gendry because he would know something was up with all of them rushing around to talk privately in different rooms. Sansa knew this made sense and wasn’t opposed to her sister letting Gendry know, however they had already agreed that Arya would come with them to the meeting despite Cersei’s insistence that it be only Sansa and Jon. Sansa simply refused to play by Cersei’s rules anymore, she would not cower to this woman’s demands, and it was a simple defiance but it was defiance all the same. But, Sansa knew that as soon as Gendry knew about the meeting and that Arya was attending, there was no way that he would allow them to keep him out of the meeting. That brought their number to four, when Cersei requested only two. 

Sansa was just happy that Bran had agreed to stay behind with no argument whatsoever. She could always count on her brother to be easy. 

“Are you sure you know the place Jon?” Arya asked as they all lounged in Sansa and Jon’s solar.

“I went to find it yesterday, it’s only a ten or fifteen minute walk into the woods. It’s not hard,” Jon shrugged.

“But will you be able to find it in the dark? How do you even know that it is the right place, it was one conversation over three years ago,” Arya pushes. 

Jon sighs, “Trust me Arya I know, it was a significant conversation and there is a big gnarled tree right by the clearing. I won’t miss it.”

Arya looks at him intently but lets the issue drop. She has asked Sansa twice about this so called “conversation” with Jaime Lannister, as Arya puts it. But Sansa has told her its not her story to tell and she will have to ask Jon directly if she wants to know so badly. 

Sansa had asked him, because somehow in all their years together he had never told her. And for some reason all these years later Jon was still embarrassed, yet he told her exactly what had happened in the days after the Long Night. 

~~~

In the aftermath of killing the Night King, Jon felt restless and anxious. It turned out that after dedicating years of your life to one singular goal, when you finally accomplish it, you end up feeling a bit useless. 

But at the same time Jon felt like things were actually worse. The conflict with Daenerys was at an all time high. She knew half of the truth about his parentage but instead of being mad she had just tried to assure him that the incest didn’t bother her, that they could still be together. Thinking about being with her, now, after all of that, disgusted him more than it had when he had been doing it just to bring her North, just to secure her forces. 

The whole situation was a mess. He mainly just tried to avoid Daenerys altogether, which admittedly probably did not help the situation. On top of that the North’s men and stores were depleted, they would take forever to rebuild. And they still had Cersei to consider. She still held King's Landing and it seemed to drive Daenerys to higher extremes with each passing day. Jon had just come from a frankly exhausting war council which was just some twenty odd people trying to convince her that all the men needed rest before they marched on King’s Landing, and her pushing back at every opportunity.

It felt like they were at a boiling point. And Jon had needed to take a walk. Normally he would go to the Godswood but since the defeat of the Night King many people had taken to praying at the site where he had been defeated. He wanted solitude. 

Out here in the woods he could think clearer, and as it seemed to always be now, whenever he had a moment of peace his thoughts returned to Sansa.

Gods. Sansa was the only reason he was able to navigate any of this. Getting back to Winterfell after months of trying to out politic Daenerys was like lowering himself into a bath of hot water after months of trekking North of the wall. A bit painful, but relieving all the same. 

He could hardly believe how things had changed since his return. Upon hearing the truth of his birth he hadn’t even thought what it would mean for Daenerys, no, unsurprisingly his first thought had been what it meant for him and Sansa. That maybe he wasn’t quite as vile as he had been feeling for so many moons. And it is why he had sought Sansa out. That conversation, the whole night really, is burned into his very soul. He thinks he could lose all memory of this life and the feeling of their first kiss would still burn him. 

Having him and Sansa, together, and being able to talk with Arya and Bran freely, it was keeping him afloat while trying to keep Daenerys placated and everyone else focused on the task at hand. But it still terrified him. He knows if Daenerys knew their intention to marry then all of this will be for nought, they need to keep their information tight until they can use it for maximum potential. His only thought now was how to keep Sansa safe, how to keep the pack safe. When he figured that out they could divulge his secret as a bargaining chip, he hoped. 

So that’s how Jon found himself wandering aimlessly in the woods around Winterfell when he stumbled upon Jaime fucking Lannister of all people. 

“Jon Snow, I can’t say I expected to find you here. I figured you’d be off skulking around the Lady Sansa Stark as is your usual behaviour,” Jaime says as he turns to face him.

Jon went slack jawed at this. He was never as good at hiding his emotions as Sansa but in his defense he would never expect Jaime to speak his mind so openly like this. And if Jaime thinks that ...well it is not good news for anyone.

“Don’t give me that look Snow. I didn’t spend my whole life fucking my sister to not recognize when one man is trying to hide his love for a woman he can't have.”

“How do you—”

“I knew it from when I first arrived. I entered the hall and you’re sitting at a table with Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys has been said to turn every man’s head she meets and it is being said all over Westeros that you are the 'Northern foo'l that bent the knee for her, out of love, you gave up your kingdom. And yet the entire time you’re up there you can’t peel your eyes off of Sansa Stark? Who is equally, if not more beautiful than Daenerys, but is also your bloody sister? I had the score in that moment because it hit a bit too close to home for my liking, Snow.’ Everyone here seems to think I’m a dolt but please give me a bit more credit,” Jaime finishes his speech and raises an eyebrow at Jon.

Jon is flabbergasted. He wanted nothing more than some air and to clear his head and yet here he is in the woods being told his business by Jaime Lannister of all people. They never should’ve let him stay here, a part of him can’t wait to tell Sansa he was right all along.

“Don’t worry Snow, I won’t breathe a word to anyone. My only interest now is making it home to Cersei and blowing up whatever is going on between you, Sansa, and Daenerys will only complicate that for me.”

“How did you do it, all those years of secrecy and pain, you never faltered and you never left. You could’ve had the pick of any woman you want and yet you join the Kingsguard so you don’t have to marry and so you can always be close to her," Jon speaks carefully, still not admitting to Jaime's accusation.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it for Sansa yourself,” Jaime sighs and upon seeing Jon's unamused expression continues, “Fine Snow, I know your secrets so I guess I’ll tell you some of mine.”

Jaime moves over to a rock beside a gnarled tree and sits down, “With Cersei it never mattered, I didn’t have a choice. Once we started we both knew it was never going to stop. And even when I had the choice, don't think I didn't, I had plenty of opportunities to stop and I never did. I always chose Cersei anyways. I did it when I threw your brother out that tower window and I will do it now even if it’s the death of us both. Even coming North, it was never about leaving her, it was about protecting her. I’m sure everyone knows now but she carries my child, again. A part of me hopes that maybe this time we will get it right.”

Jon just stares at this man and somehow sees parts of himself in him. That devotion, he would die for Sansa, he thought he would die for Sansa when they went to war with the Night King. Hells he thought he would die when he agreed to take back Winterfell but he did it without question. Even when he thought there was no hope for them, he seduced Daenerys, a woman he abhorred, for Sansa's safety and would do it again.

“I’m going back to the castle Kingslayer. If you breathe a word of what you have observed to anyone, I’ll have you hung and you’ll never make it back to Cersei,” Jon turns and walks away.

As he is leaving he hears Jaime, “If it’s any consolation I think she might feel the same way Jon. It’s hard to get a read on her but sometimes, a look in her eyes. It reminds me of Cersei.”

Jon doesn’t turn back however he can’t help but chuckle. Oh, if only Jaime Lannister knew the truth.

~~~

“So, we all know our places then. Jon, Arya, and Gendry, you’ll come with me to meet them in the designated spot. Brienne will man the guard post as she changed the guard schedule so nobody sees us leaving or returning. Bran, you will wait and man the secret passage if we decide to bring them back to the castle and get them in undetected yes?” Sansa diverts the conversation back to the plan at hand. 

“Yes, and Jon has spoken with Sam and Gilly. Gilly has the room readied and will bring them anything they need if they end up staying here for any long period of time,” Bran replies. 

This was the part of the plan Sansa felt worst about. Not that she didn’t trust Sam and Gilly, she did. But bringing them in put more people at risk if things went South. It was simply logistics. The rest of them were all significant features around the castle and any of them scurrying around for prolonged periods of time would arouse suspicion. Gilly can easily slip into the kitchens and Sam can get clothes or clean sheets and nobody will think anything of it. If they plan to house the Lannister twins for any prolonged period of time they need people to tend to their day to day needs without much disruption to the Stark’s daily ongoings. 

“And remember, I want all of you to speak as little as possible. Cersei asked to speak with me. If one of us addresses you directly, answer, but try to keep it brief. I’m going to try my best to get a read on Cersei and if I can keep her attention on me that will be easier. The rest of you focus on our surroundings, keep your eyes on Jaime and watch for any tricks. I don’t forsee how they could do it but I don’t put anything past Cersei,” Sansa finishes. 

“I still don’t think Gendry should come. Cersei might not take kindly to one of Robert’s bastards being present,” Arya tries one last time. 

Gendry scowls, “You’re already not supposed to be there Arya. If you’re willing to stay behind then so am I, but we are already breaking the rules.”

“We’re not changing anything now Arya, you’re the one who wanted to tell Gendry in the first place,” Jon says firmly.

Sansa watches Gendry stick out his tongue at Arya and Arya roll her eyes in return. She can't stand them sometimes, these ridiculous antics the two of them insist on keeping up. If they would admit to how deep their attachment went it would be one thing, but all this tip toeing around. It does Sansa's head in. 

Ignoring Arya and Gendry, Sansa speaks, “Okay well we will all go to dinner now and then we will meet back here an hour before we have to meet Cersei,” She turns to Brienne, “In case I forget to remind you at the time, if we do not return in an hour, sound the alarm. But make sure to give us a full hour.”

“Of course my Lady,” Brienne nods.

They all exit the room and Sansa feels resolve more than fear for the first time all day.

~~~

They’d been on the road for weeks and Cersei was not exactly coping great. It was even worse than when they had fled Westeros if she’s being honest. At least she had just stayed in a boat and dealt with sickness from the pregnancy. Now they were travelling across Westeros and they were so far North she was worried they’d missed Winterfell altogether.

She’d thought she’d given herself lots of time when she had composed the letter to Sansa. Jaime had helped her and she figured he was better at estimating travel distances. She should’ve realized Jaime had never travelled with her and two toddlers in tow. They were now pushing it every day and they would likely make it only a few hours early. 

The first few days had destroyed her feet but now they were hard calluses. They had procured a sled for their toddlers which allowed them to pull them with ease but they still had to stay off any main roads for fear of being spotted by, well, anyone really. 

She thought constantly about what she would say to Sansa. She had discussed her propositions with Jaime and he agreed, but she had made him promise to be as quiet as possible, she may love him but his big mouth was prone to getting them in trouble. 

Other than her pains the journey had been relatively unremarkable. Joanna had gotten a slight cold for a few days but Jaime had snuck into a village and stolen some medicine. She was doing fine now. Joanna and Ciseron had both been relatively good at travelling, they kind of viewed it as an adventure. And they loved the North. Cersei had to admit, in Winter, it was beautiful. Especially now, it was coming to an end so it was actually quite warm, but the snow remained. 

They had travelled through hills and valleys covered with crisp white snow and watched big fluffy snowflakes coat each other’s hair. They had seen bountiful wildlife and the children especially loved the bunnies that they often happened across. The streams and rivers of the north were clear and magnetic in the way they drew you in. The noise of a nearby stream would draw you in a distract you for hours if you let it. It blocked out all other sound and made you feel especially alone. It was oddly comforting when you felt like someone might attack you at any turn. 

Jaime only had a few short knives if they were attacked. He had left his sword in Essos, it was too bulky to carry all this way, not to mention conspicuous. 

That morning they had all cleaned in a river and put on their one change of clothes. Cersei felt at least presentable but she had to admit she would have liked a lot more time to get ready before confronting Sansa for the first time in years. 

They had glimpsed Winterfell from afar this morning when they came to the top of a hill but made their way back to the covered woods for the last couple hours of the journey. 

The children babbled to each other in the sleigh and Jaime and Cersei talked.

“It will go fine, we have nothing to hide and have no ulterior motive,” Jaime reminded her for the hundredth time.

“Sansa won’t think that way, and I can’t blame her. She could’ve already alerted Daenerys to our message and we could be walking into a trap, more specifically right into the mouth of a dragon.”  
Jaime sighed as they continued to trudge through the snow, “We’ve been over this, Sansa is smarter than that. You definitely think she will know the value of considering all her options. She knows Daenerys but right now you are an unknown. She will want all the information before proceeding. And after we speak with her she would be an utter fool to side with Daenerys," Jaime recites, as confident, and as infuriating as ever. She hates when he can be so calm in the face of danger.

“I know you’re right Jaime, but I still think it is perhaps the most foolish thing I’ve done, expect the girl I tormented for years to even have a modicum of trust in me,” Cersei responds in defeat.

She won’t deny that being in Westeros has done something to her. Going North feels wrong. She feels the pull of the Iron Throne even years later. It must be the after effect of having her eyes on it for so many years. But every morning when she rises and sees Jaime and their twins she knows she won’t let it control her anymore. She can’t.

Sometimes she finds herself snapping at Jaime in ways she hasn’t for years. It burrows under her skin, this woman she used to be when she was in Westeros and she feels like she is constantly battling 'it' for control. But she has different goals now, different dreams, and she needs to let the past go. The woman she was is gone, but perhaps not forgotten. 

They make it to the place about an hour ahead of schedule and so they feed Joanna and Ciseron the last of the food they had been carrying and tuck them into bed. Cersei hopes desperately that they will sleep through all the discussions but she knows that they wouldn’t understand or remember this night even if they did wake up. It just worries her, having her children so close to people who might wish them harm.

It’s too late to change things now though. Her and Jaime wait in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the meeting between Cersei and Sansa :)  
> And yes! We will eventually have a flashback of Sansa and Jon getting together/their conversations when he came back to Winterfell with Daenerys.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback, drop a comment if you're enjoying this :)


	5. violence from without, anger from within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter incoming, broke 5K words with this one, the much anticipated meeting of Cersei and Sansa. Enjoy!

Everything had gone fine, if not slowly. Dinner had dragged but they had made it through. The castle was quiet by 10 o’clock. Sansa had left Cat with Sam and Gilly once she was down to sleep and now they were all back in Sansa and Jon’s chambers. 

Brienne had just left to take her post watching over the castle and they were just getting ready to bring Bran down to guard the passage they would use if they brought Jaime and Cersei back with them.

Sansa felt relieved that the time had finally come but she just felt like things were going too smoothly. It felt like the world was changing irrevocably and yet there was no outward sign that anything had gone on. All around them the castle was settling into sleep, not knowing what its protectors were about to embark on. She glances around at her family.

“Gendry you cannot bring a warhammer,” Sansa chastises when she glimpses him reaching for it, “That’s a damn obvious weapon.”

“We’re not going in weaponless Sansa,” Arya replies.

“Obviously, but only ones that can be concealed,” Jon reminds them. 

Gendry leaves the warhammer leaning against the wall and tucks another knife up his sleeve, just in case. It does something to Sansa, maybe it’s the part of her that is still that wistful girl who loves the stories about heroes and knights, and who just wanted to be Queen more than anything else. But seeing these people she loves arm themselves, to protect her, it means more than she can describe. For so long she had to protect herself and now she works with the people she loves and they all protect each other. She’s no longer a little dove, she feels every bit a Queen of Winter, a direwolf through and through. 

There had been a time when she felt like her inability to wield a weapon made her weak, like maybe some fundamental part of her was broken. Growing up with all her siblings biting at the chance to fight had impacted her. When she had been held by Ramsay she had thought if she had been more like Arya she could have fought back. She realized after taking back Winterfell and maneuvering Daenerys politically in the North that the weapons she had herself were often worth more. She could protect her family just as well with her mind as they could with their hands.

Still, she liked the weapons.

“We should get going, it’s almost time,” Bran remarks, glancing out the window at the clear night sky.

They all make their way through the castle, quiet and dark in the middle of the night. And they are lucky to not meet anyone. They leave Bran and he wishes them good luck, hugging them all a bit tighter than might be strictly necessary but he keeps up the appearance of a brave face. Bran, so wise beyond his years, and so changed, but still the boy who scoured Winterfell’s walls with no fear of falling.

Sansa, Jon, Arya, and Gendry step into the courtyard of Winterfell and she can’t help but feel that they are doing something illicit. Seven hells, it’s their damn castle and Sansa still feels like her mother or father are about to step out of the shadows and chastise her for being out of bed. 

When they step outside the castle walls Sansa pauses. They’re all bathed in a glow of white moonlight. The air is still and if she tries she swears she can almost smell a fire far off in the distance, she can’t be sure though. They start to walk, following Jon towards the woods and their footsteps crunching in the fresh snow seem to echo around them for miles. Of course, Arya somehow avoids making any noise but Sansa knows the rest of them are alerting anyone for miles around that they are coming. 

It’s a short walk and Sansa lets her eyes rest on Jon’s back as they navigate the woods. They rhythm of his breathing grounding her and settling her racing mind. The ground is luckily flat and it is really not a cold night at all. Winter is ending. She continues to watch the contours of Jon’s shoulders through his many layers until he abruptly stops. He turns around to face the rest of them. 

“It’s not far now, we will come upon it any minute, are we good?” Jon says in a quieter tone.

They all look around at each other and nods their heads. It’s been discussed so much over the last few days that Sansa thinks her heart could stop in anticipation at this point. Jon nods back at them and treks on.

~~~

Cersei hears them before she sees them. She hears them stop walking for a moment before coming closer. She spares one last glance at Joanna and Ciseron who are mercifully still sleeping and then, with her hand in Jaime’s, moves her and her twin closer to the small fire they built. The moon is bright enough that they would all be able to see each other but a little added light won’t hurt. Plus Cersei is so cold she has to force her teeth to stop chattering. She knows this is partially nerves and not the weather but the illusion that the fire will warm her makes her feel a bit better.

While she’s considering the fire, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark step into the clearing. And they’re immediately followed by two others. She recognizes the other Stark sister immediately despite not seeing her for ages. She’s older, truly a woman, but she still seems just as wild as when Cersei knew her in King’s Landing. The other man is unknown to her and his face is hidden in shadow so she doesn’t get a good look at him, he’s burly though, he has a strong build. Clearly a strategic choice on Sansa’s part, to surround herself with strength as Cersei herself once did with the mountain. She was taken aback by the unexpected additions but really she had thought that Sansa would bring a couple more people than Cersei requested, as an act of defiance and a show of power. It was a luxury Cersei didn’t have, loyal people to stand behind her. 

It’s Arya and the other man who distract Cersei from fully appraising Sansa Stark and Jon Snow before Sansa speaks.

“Well, part of me didn’t really believe it was you. But I guess luck has never been on my side when it comes to Lannisters, right Cersei? You really did survive,” Sansa’s voice meets Cersei’s ears seemingly disembodied, as if in a dream. There’s a surprising note of admiration on the last bit.

Cersei’s eyes finally snap up, she comes out of this trance, and for the first time since Joffrey died, ice blue eyes meet emerald green. The years that have passed seem to only have hardened this woman, no longer a little bird, who stands before her. Her face betrays no emotion and despite the conviction Sansa spoke with, Cersei swears her lips barely moved. It’s like she’s looking at a mask, or maybe at a mirror. 

She can’t help but wonder how she looks to Sansa. She was worried about how she was aging for years but it had been so long since she had seen anyone on this journey, and truthfully years since she had interacted with anyone besides common people in Essos. She must look unkempt, like a wild animal, a starving lion. Not unlike how little Arya Stark looked once upon a time. So far from a noble lady that it’s hard for Cersei to even imagine how she appears to this woman of winter.

Because Cersei sees Sansa and she won’t deny that this woman is beautiful. The fire flickers across her face and her skin looks like smooth porcelain. She wears a beautiful dark blue dress and one of the tightest corsets Cersei has ever seen, it almost looks like armour but she can’t see it fully since Sansa also wears a wolf fur overcoat. Her hair is longer and somehow more red than Cersei remembers it. It’s pulled back harshly to her scalp and styled in intricate braids. The type of braids that make Cersei yearn for the past, for a time when she had handmaidens who styled her hair every morning and made her look every bit the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa is… younger, more beautiful— Cersei stops herself. It’s not the road she needs to go down. She needs to focus.

It’s only been a few seconds but Cersei feels all eyes are waiting for her. 

“Did you rehearse that on the way here? Surely after all these years you’ve imagined this conversation going down a hundred different ways,” Cersei says, she tries to keep her voice light but she thinks she has erred already. 

Sansa’s face doesn’t change, “Truthfully I rarely think of you Cersei and when I do it does not involve our meeting again. This is something I have wanted to avoid for some time now. I have no unfinished business with you and it is you who has summoned me here so for what reason is it I owe you this pleasure?”

Cersei, suddenly nervous and wanting to prolong the conversation before Sansa might choose to end it, changes tactics, “You brought guests I see. You deciphered the rest of my letter just fine by the fact that you’re here at all yet you ignore the one request I have. Still having trouble with letters I see.”

It’s a low blow and Cersei cringes internally. It doesn’t even make sense to bring up the letter she forced Sansa to write, not in this context but she was suddenly desperate to have the upper hand. She could feel that Sansa had the power here and she took any dig she could. 

“I’m sure you remember my sister tends to do what she wants and nothing anyone can say will change her mind. As for Gendry,” She gestures at the man Cersei still can’t see clearly, “I like to have insurance.”

Something prickles in Cersei’s skull at the mention of the name Gendry but as she tries to grasp it it floats away like a whisper on the wind. She can’t pin it down. 

“And I’ll say, you didn’t mention children in your letter Cersei. I knew you had been pregnant when you fled but two—oh are they twins? Seven hells,” Sansa actually lets out a small laugh, it’s the most emotion she has shown so far. 

Since locking eyes with Sansa their gazes had not wavered and Cersei had momentarily forgotten that the clearing held six adults and not just the two of them. Jaime squeezes Cersei’s arm at Sansa’s comment though, in reassurance, and it stabilizes Cersei in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. 

“My twins are not a concern here. I asked you here to talk about the state of Westeros and that’s what we will do now,” Cersei says. Somehow, Sansa mentioning her children has snapped Cersei into motion, she needed to draw attention away from them immediately. 

Sansa arches one eyebrow as if to say, go on.

“The Dragon Queen is quite beautiful,” Cersei is stunned at what comes out of her mouth as it is not what she intended to say at all. 

She feels Jaime’s hands on her tighten again and his head tilts to look down at her. She sees Arya and Jon (she has really ignored him thus far and makes a mental note to appraise him going forward), look at her as if she has completely lost her mind. She’s sure that the man Gendry chuckles under his breath but it’s Sansa’s reaction that interests her most. 

Sansa’s brows raise to her hair line and her mouth goes into a little ‘O’ but then she speaks, “Littlefinger once said the exact same thing to me, before I had him executed of course. But he was trying to provoke a jealous reaction out of me in regards to Jon. I admit I fail to see what the observation does here.”

She notes that at the mention of Littlefinger Jon’s body tenses beside Sansa and then he looks even more shocked at the rest of the words that spilled from Sansa. He stays silent despite the fact that it appears to Cersei that he is fully ready to discuss this revelation at length with Sansa.

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about what inspires devotion in her. She is quite mad by now I assume? Is it truly her beauty that inspires those to devote themselves to her or….” Cersei trails off.

Sansa sighs, “Partly, for those close to her, I think yes. She has an aura, it is easy to be pulled in if you want to believe in her. It is my belief that your other brother was drawn to her for her beauty first and then convinced himself of her cause. Lord Varys on the other hand I think wants a particular type of ruler for Westeros and wanted to believe in her. For the small people though? It is fear. The Dragon Queen has dragons don’t forget. And no, I don’t think she’s mad, that would absolve her of her actions and I think she is in her right mind enough to know what she’s doing. But then again some called you the Mad Queen once and I think you’ve always been well aware of what your actions brought about.”

Cersei is shocked, it’s like the words just spilled out of Sansa. Everyone looks at her in a bit of awe the way it always is when someone speaks treason so freely. Cersei can’t even find it in her to be mad about the dig.

“No, I was never mad you’re quite right,” Cersei hesitates and pushes on, “You have no reason to trust me Sansa, I understand that. I don’t expect forgiveness from you but I need you to know that I am not the same woman as I was in King’s Landing. I came back to Westeros with one goal and for once it’s something that won’t bring harm and destruction but hopefully peace.”

It’s Sansa’s turn to look taken aback. 

“You’re right. I don’t trust you. I don’t like being here and I definitely don’t forgive you for anything that happened in King’s Landing, but I imagine we are both here for much the same reason,” Sansa gives a pointed looks at Cersei’s sleeping children, “So what are you proposing?”

“The Dragon Queen will destroy Westeros. It’s only been three years and the crops have diminished, her tax system is not sustainable and she doesn’t understand how to settle disputes without dragon fire. This is just what we’ve heard in Essos and here and there while travelling to Winterfell. She grows more paranoid by the day, proven by the fact that she is still sending hunting parties after Jaime and myself. We have not disturbed her since our escape and she still requires our heads, she lets it consume her,” Cersei says. 

“She sent men after you? That’s news, the official report is that the hunt was abandoned after the first year but the bounty remained. That’s not good, if she was doing it under the table so people didn’t know she was hunting you down,” Sansa looks genuinely concerned and Cersei is thankful that they’re actually getting somewhere now. 

“Sansa, I’m here because I think if there’s anyone who hates her as much as I do it’s you. I know you, whether you will admit it or not, and I saw your face at my trial. It should’ve been a day of triumph for you, nobody should’ve been happier at my demise than you and yet all I saw was your loathing for Daenerys, it came off you in waves,” Cersei says and she hopes she hasn’t pushed too much.

Sansa considers her and while Cersei sees the mask slipping right into place Sansa speaks, “Yes, I suppose we both hate her. But that’s not a plan Cersei, what are you suggesting we do.”

“Go to war?” She chuckles, “We need to move against her and together we will have the power to do it, the Starks and Lannisters have come together against Targaryens before,” Cersei says but she feels like it’s not enough.

“You have the power of the North. If I assume correctly, if you declared against her you would have the Vale and the Riverlands behind you as well, possibly the Iron Islands? Casterly Rock would declare for us if Jaime and I returned, I’m certain of it. They hate Tyrion with a passion but remain loyal because no other Lannister will rise up. If we can convince Dorne, and we know they hate the Targaryens after Elia, well that leaves what? The Stormlands and the Tyrells?” Cersei finishes.

“You would have the Stormlands,” Says a deep voice, Cersei understands it to be Gendry but in that moment she glances at him and notices the moon has shifted. 

She visibly flinches and she feels Jaime reach for a weapon maybe, she’s not sure but she feels him move suddenly? It’s the face of a young Robert Baratheon. She connects things instantly. This is one of Robert’s bastards. He looked shocked that he even spoke, as if he didn’t mean to. 

“You mean to insult me little dove? You flaunt Robert’s spawn right in front of me, even for you I’m shocked,” Cersei snarls, defensive immediately. 

“You bitch!” Arya shouts and she’s moving out of the corner of her eye but several things happen at once. 

Arya has pulled out a knife and is flying across the clearing. But before she can reach them Jon has his arms around her, trapping her. At the same time Jaime had pushed Cersei aside and taken a defensive stance with his own knife out. Gendry looks horror struck and guilty in the background but Cersei’s eyes find Sansa’s and she looks amused, and shockingly fully in control. The tableau holds for one moment.

“Well that was exciting. I guess the tension had to break sometime,” Sansa genuinely laughs when saying this. 

Jon lets Arya go and moves to Sansa, touching her lightly on the back. Arya still looks furious but she silences herself. 

“I never knew my father, and I don’t know you my Lady, but if you are against the Dragon Queen we are on the same side. My brother, Edric, holds Storm’s End and would join us in an instant if I went to him,” Gendry speaks again and Cersei is impressed with his composure, he manages to keep eye contact with her the whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” Cersei says through gritted teeth, this night is trying all her patience but she promised herself, “I was shocked. You look so much like Robert and we… well it was not a good marriage,” Cersei has composed herself and is proud of the control she is exerting. It’s so much easier to be a bitch sometimes. 

Gendry nods.

“Back to the topic at hand. I agree we would have the numbers. We would have the Iron Islands and we might be able to convince Dorne. The Tyrells are a problem, they have prospered again under Targaryen rule but with everyone else working together it’s really a small issue. I am however, more concerned about her dragons. Thousands more will die if we don’t take them out first,” Sansa says, and Cersei cannot help but notice that it is Sansa who has controlled everything tonight, she hasn’t let her hold slip for a moment.

Cersei considers Sansa’s words and is uncertain. She glances at Jaime and he nods. Cersei turns back and she sees that Sansa is looking at her curiously. 

Cersei however, directs her words at Jon, “My brother told me that during the battle of the living and dead that you flew her dragon, Rhaegal. It was always my understanding that if a Targaryen flew a dragon they were paired for life.”

It’s silent. And Cersei can see that Sansa’s entire body has gone rigid.

“Are you suggesting that I steal her dragon and then fight her on it,” Jon finally responds.

Sansa looks silently furious but Cersei continues.

“I’m suggesting that if you had her second dragon it would keep her from burning all our forces alive, yes”

“You want to use Jon as bait? Gods why did we even come here,” Sansa looks ready to jump across the clearing now but Cersei sees Jon has his hands on her suddenly.

“Sansa, I would do it, it’s not a horrible idea. The dragon issue would be eliminated,” Jon is talking directly to Sansa but they can all hear him clearly.

“Until you die riding a dragon and she has two dragons again, and she is even more angry on top of that,” Sansa sounds a bit ridiculous but Cersei recognizes it. She felt the same way whenever Jaime was out risking his life and she had no choice but to stay behind. It strikes her, that she sees this weakness in Sansa, her obvious love for her husband, that has caused her mask to slip for a few moments. And oddly enough Cersei isn’t thinking about how to exploit the weakness but instead is connecting to it herself. Fascinating.

“We don’t have to do it,” Cersei interrupts them and draws their eyes back to her, “We have time to come up with something else, but does this mean we are willing to work together on this, to take down Daenerys?”

Sansa considers Cersei for what feels like the thousandth time tonight, “What I don’t get Cersei, is what you’re getting out of this. I don’t believe for one second you’re interested in only the good of Westeros despite your preaching.”

“Sansa,” Cersei responds and steps forward slightly, “Me, Jaime, our children, we will never be safe as long as she lives. I want a peaceful life now, I had a peaceful life. Daenerys will always disturb that. She found us in Lys and she will find us anywhere.”

“And after Daenerys is gone? You’re just going to find a quaint cottage somewhere?” Sansa is still skeptical.

Cersei sighs, pinches her nose, she hoped this wouldn’t come up so soon, “We want the Rock. It’s ours by rights. All we want is to live quietly and rule Casterly Rock.”

Sansa looks slightly confused and her lip shakes a bit, she says slowly, “Then who do you see on the throne when all of this is over? Who will be left to rule Westeros.”

It’s Cersei’s turn to raise her eyebrow, “Why sweet Sansa, I thought it was obvious at this point. You.”

~~~

Cersei had not changed, not at all.

She didn’t have the finery she once did and she looks tired but she still looks every bit a Queen. She must have been travelling for weeks yet her hair still shined. There was just something in the way she held herself. She looked regal.

When they had walked into that clearing it was almost like Sansa was a little girl again and she was ready to cower when she saw Cersei. But they started speaking and Sansa felt she found her footing. Their dynamic is different now. Not equals but definitely more reciprocal. They can both take whatever the other throws at them, they both seem to expect nothing else. But honestly Sansa is surprised at the relative civility.

The meeting had been going well. Sansa hadn’t really felt out of her element at all, despite Cersei’s suggestion about the dragons. Sure there had been some snark and a close call with Arya, because of course there was. But Cersei seemed serious. More concerningly she seemed genuine. 

And it was this appearance of genuineness that concerned her when Cersei said, with full sincerity, that she expected Sansa to be Queen. Had she read the whole night wrong because clearly Cersei was playing a game, she would never willingly want Sansa on the throne. And yet, with everything else they had discussed tonight she guessed it made sense. Cersei clearly wanted peace, a more quiet life. Sansa suspected it had a lot to do with her children (having lost the other three) and the years in Essos had likely done her well. And who better to come to than the person you think should be monarch? That would be the person you have to convince first, after all. 

Despite these racing thoughts all Sansa manages to squawk out is a strangled, “What?”

Her voice cracks and she only realizes in the aftermath that the clearing had been dead silent seconds before. Jon, Arya, and Gendry are frozen. Jaime and Cersei just look expectant. The twins sleep on. 

“Sansa,” Cersei starts, “You might not believe me now, maybe not ever. Hopefully if you’re ever on the throne you will believe me but I will do whatever it takes to secure safety for my family. You know how far I go when I want something done. Daenerys will be a constant threat. I believe that if you and Jon rule, you will allow us to live in peace. You’ll never be my favourite person. But I believe you will be a good queen. Even before I escaped it was known that the North adored you. And besides, you learned from me so who better to take the throne, if I’m being completely honest.”

Sansa has to laugh at that. The implication that Cersei was at all competent as Queen is just too much for her. 

“Okay well,” Sansa catches her breath, “You’ve given us a lot to consider tonight. Come back to the castle tonight and we will conceal you well. We can talk tomorrow more once you are cleaned and fed.”

For the first time she sees genuine relief flash across Jaime and Cersei’s faces. And Sansa realizes that as scared as she was about this, they were genuinely worried too. It comforts her, to know she can inspire such fear in one who once terrorized her. Jaime and Cersei move to grab their children when they’re interrupted. 

“But wait, Sansa and Jon can’t go running off to rule in King’s Landing. They have to look after Winterfell,” Arya pipes up.

Sansa turns her whole body to face her sister, and gods she loves her but sometimes she is so thick to what is looking her right in the face. Sansa looks at her and waits for her to figure it out. What comes next further proves to Sansa that Arya is sometimes purposefully dense.

“Sansa, you can’t be serious. Bran has made it so clear that he has no interest in ruling that after everything with the Night King he doesn’t feel equipped. He goes through long periods of quiet and sadness still, he doesn’t want it!” Arya is getting a bit heated, she is genuinely distressed.

“Luckily for Bran, another Stark is still living, ” Sansa says and she can’t keep the smugness out of her voice.

Arya’s eyes go wide. It’s not often Sansa is able to shock her sister. So she glories in the effect these simple words have on her. She hears Gendry snickering from the shadows and Jon’s arms are around her now so she feels when he starts laughing. But Arya, she’s purely shocked. She can’t even speak and Sansa finds it hilarious. 

Arya still can’t speak and Sansa spares a glance at Cersei and Jaime, they look hesitant like they’re intruding on something private but she also sees slight smirks on their faces that will always be too similar. 

“Come on everyone, lets go before Brienne has the entire castle out of bed looking for us. We’ll leave this one,” She nods at Arya, “here with her thoughts.”

They all start heading into the woods and it takes a minute but suddenly there’s noise behind them. Arya taking no care this time to be silent.

“SANSA! Come back here!”

“It won’t be easy,” Sansa muses later as her and Jon are crawling into bed. 

“No, I expect it won’t,” Jon responds while pulling Sansa close to his chest, “But when has anything we’ve ever done been easy?”

Sansa considers the rest of the evening. Arya had simply talked her ear off all the way to the castle about how she’s not equipped to rule Winterfell and how irresponsible Sansa is being, that she knows how erratic Arya is and finally there are multiple threats to leave Westeros altogether. But Sansa pays her no mind honestly. She needs to wait her sister out, she always takes time to sort through her emotions properly.

And she’s seen Arya with the small people. Seen her with the children she helps teach sparring to. The people love her. And she would be a good Lady of Winterfell, even if she’s not really a Lady. Regardless, it matters little now with so much ahead of them to get to that point. 

They had gotten Cersei and Jaime to a long forgotten and concealed room with no problem and went to fetch Gilly who had food, water, and hot baths ready for them. Sansa had left them and went to take Cat from Sam who was keeping watch. 

They had filled Bran and Brienne on this evening’s events briefly but everyone was tired and ready to head to bed. There were promises to discuss everything at length on the morning. When they arrived at their chambers and Arya was still trailing them with protests Sansa had to threaten to “command” her to leave as the Lady of Winterfell in order to get her to actually go to bed. But Sansa knows the conversation is far from over. 

“I don’t want you riding a dragon Jon,” Sansa says as they nestle into the furs.

“It’s long off, but you know if I have to I will, I was being honest that it’s not a horrible idea,” Jon says.

“It’s unnecessarily risky,” Sansa sighs but closes her eyes. 

“We’ll discuss it later. You did well Sansa, you’re so brave, so strong for meeting her. It was the right decision,” Jon lays a kiss in her hair. 

“I still don’t fully trust her. But thank you. It did feel like a momentous occasion. It’s been a long time coming. I know I said I had no unfinished business but I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed the closure,” Sansa admits.

“I’m glad you got that Sansa. If anyone deserves peace with the past it’s you,” Jon murmurs.

They’re almost asleep when Jon suddenly speaks.

“So Littlefinger tried to make you jealous?” Jon says and he sounds wide awake.  
Sansa doesn’t open her eyes but elbows him in the ribs, “Yes and as you well know it worked perfectly as I stayed in Winterfell and pined for moons while you entertained Daenerys miles away.”

She’s not actually upset but Jon pulls her tighter regardless, “There was nothing to ever be jealous of my love, you have had my heart, now and always.”

With that, Sansa falls asleep in Jon’s arms. Even though she knows that what comes next is infinitely harder and more dangerous, she feels, for the first time in a long time, hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to ask any questions. I tried to be true to Sansa and Cersei's history and who they were while considering who they are in the time of the fic, I think there's a lot of unresolved tension yet but they were both attempting to be on their best behaviour for the task at hand. 
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback and keep the comments coming I love them!


	6. trying to to light a fire, soaked to the skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, sorry for not posting last week! I had a friend visiting from out of town and I've been super busy with school. I'm running a bit short on what I have pre written but I'm still loving this story and appreciate all your support, so if you stay with me the updates will keep coming even if they get a bit irregular.

Arya hit the ground and feels a rock cut her chin open. Great. She had gotten up extra early and had been out training in the yard for almost 2 hours. Nobody else was even up yet. The session had been so gruelling and she had been putting her body through the ringer. The plan had been if she pushed herself hard enough she would be able to shut her mind off and just focus on the physical. Clearly it wasn’t working.

She hauled herself up and brushed her clothes off. Others in the castle will be waking up and coming out soon, she might as well go wash now. The footwork she had been practicing was so simple but she could hardly focus on even her most rudimentary run throughs all morning. She had fallen because she couldn’t stop thinking, thinking about last night.

Lady of fucking Winterfell.

Who was Sansa kidding? Admittedly, Arya had kinda been with Cersei up until that point. She had been making a lot of sense and Arya was actually believing her. But clearly she didn’t remember Arya well enough if she believed she could run a castle. 

Arya had started walking across the courtyard and was kicking gravel as she went, fully given up on making any more progress in her training. She was barely even looking where she was going when she ran straight into Gendry.

“Sorry,” Arya mumbled, “Morning.”

She had kind of blown Gendry off last night. She was so worked up after Sansa had told her to let them sleep that when she had made it back to where her and Gendry’s rooms were and saw him waiting for her she had been a bit snippy and rude.

He had asked her if she was coming to bed and she just huffed past him and slammed the door behind her while she entered into her own room. 

Now, Arya and Gendry had been together, for lack of a better word for ages now. But Arya knew her own insecurities and worries prevented them from making anything more serious out of it. It was why they still had separate chambers, despite the fact that Arya spent nine nights out of ten in his bed. It was why she would avoid any conversation about marriage and run at the first sign of a serious talk about feelings. Not that she would admit any of this to Gendry. 

And Gendry didn’t expect any of this from her. She knew that he was happy with whatever she gave him and that keeping things relaxed between them would keep him happy for the rest of his life. She didn’t think it was fair, and maybe he was too good for her, but he hadn’t pushed her on it yet.

But still, she had been a bit of an ass last night. 

She looks up at Gendry and repeats,“Morning,” She lets it hang between them as he stares down at her, she takes a breath and continues, “I’m sorry about last night. It’s just all this talk about the Lady of Winterfell nonsense and I was stressing out. I took it out on you and that wasn’t fair.”

Gendry just smiles, easy as ever, “I know Arya,” his eyes glint with something mischievous, “but I’ve been calling you my Lady for years you shouldn’t really be surprised at this point.”

Oh. He thinks he’s so clever. 

She sticks out her tongue, childish but effective and jostles him as she passes him on the way to her shower, “Keep that up and I’ll spend tonight in my rooms again.”

She doesn’t look back as she walks away but she can feel his eyes on her back all the way across the yard. 

After she’s clean and making her way through Winterfell’s halls to get to breakfast on time Arya notices that the castle is alive with people bustling. It’s so strange to her that for them nothing has changed. They don’t know that Cersei and Jaime Lannister reside deep within the castle. They don’t know that in the coming weeks and months it’s likely that they will all be at war, the whole North and maybe all of Westeros. 

These thoughts force what she is trying to ignore to the forefront of her mind again. Growing up, the thought of ruling Winterfell was never even on the table, with so many brothers and Sansa, it never even crossed her mind. But now it was her reality. Possibly. She remembers running these halls with Bran and finding new places to hide from the Septas. She remembers her mother and father finding them and scolding them. She’d give anything for one more day of that she thinks. 

As she continues towards the great hall she comes across a little used room that she passes often but never gives much thought to. Something makes her stop and she opens the door. It’s one of the rooms her and Bran had hidden in, years ago. Suddenly it’s that sunny youthful afternoon all over again. They’d had Sansa with them that time and the three of them had holed up in a cubby in the back corner. She remembers the Septas had checked it twice and not been able to see them. Eventually Robb, Jon, and Theon had found them and for some reason Robb had been watching Rickon. It was one of the only times Arya can remember all of them getting along for any extended period of time. Eventually the seven of them were making so much noise playing some ridiculous game that Ned and Cat had found them. None of the Starks had noticed their parents standing in the doorway watching their children play for some ten minutes. And when they did they weren’t even scolded for, not even Jon who had faced so much scorn from their mother. Nor Theon who was always a bit on the fringe. The memory brought tears to Arya’s eyes. 

As much as she loathed to admit it. Winterfell was her home. She had thought herself a wanderer and explorer for so long, but since coming back, she had truly made it her home. Maybe Sansa was right, maybe she could—

“Hey, what are you doing?” Jon’s voice comes from behind her. 

Gods what was with everyone finding her deep in thought this morning. She turns around and sees his eyes widen slightly at the sight of her red eyes. 

“Nothing, just thinking. I forgot about this room. I was just remembering that time all of us hid in here for hours and didn’t even get in trouble for it. It was just a good memory,” She brushes it off. 

“Ahh, I almost forgot about that, it feels like a different lifetime,” Jon muses, “Well, I’m heading for breakfast now and then Sansa says all of us are going to go meet with Jaime and Cersei later today to make plans. I think she wants to talk to you privately later as well, go easy on her please.”

Arya scoffs, “Don’t worry, me and Sansa understand each other now. We’ll be fine”

They both head out of the room and make their way towards the great hall. Jon is silent until just before they reach the doors.

“Hey Arya hold on,” He grabs her arm, “If you don’t want to do it we will figure something out. There’s a thousand variables to consider. You have time to think, and if you want to talk about it or just have someone listen, I’m here.”

Arya considers him and nods. She has a lot to think about. 

~~~

Sansa hadn’t slept well. She was sore and tired and wanted to be anywhere but this stressful meeting but she had to be here. She hadn’t had any appetite at breakfast, she had been so nervous about how the rest of the day would play out. She’d been tossing and turning all night thinking about Cersei and Arya mostly. Her thoughts had raced with whether she had handled Cersei well and whether Arya would be more subdued in the morning. But then she would fall asleep and have dreams about Jon riding a dragon and burning, or horribly falling for ages. Or worst of all she would dream of Daenerys holding her baby Cat. Nothing bad ever happened in this dream but Sansa herself wasn’t with them. She watched from above as Daenerys caressed her daughter, it made Sansa ill to think about, a danger lurking underneath. And all of this prevented her from getting any much needed sleep.

So here she was, planning what was likely to be the biggest undertaking she would have as Lady of Winterfell and she couldn’t help but yawn. Sure preparing for the Night King had been horrendous but at least they’d had dragons. As much as she abhorred Daenerys, that had alleviated a substantial part of her stress. 

They had all come to the covertly hidden chamber that they had put Cersei and Jaime in to avoid detection. The room was spacious enough but being a hidden chamber it was definitely not as comfortable as their standard war room. The room’s existence was strange enough. Sansa had known of it in her youth but she always understood it was a bit of a Stark secret. It was behind a false wall in a little used sleeping chamber hallway. Then it was at the end of its own secret hallway. She was confident that none of the castle staff knew of its existence. 

Looking around the room they had all assembled. Herself, Jon, Arya, Bran, Jaime, Cersei, Brienne, Bran, Sam and Gilly.

Luckily, Jaime and Cersei’s kids seemed exhausted after the long journey and still slept. Sansa had yet to see them awake since Jaime and Cersei arrived. 

Their low numbers were currently the biggest problem they were encountering. 

“Letters are risky, they can be intercepted and we run the risk of not knowing how people react until it could be too late,” Cersei stated for what seemed like the tenth time.

“We simply don’t have the time or people to go all over the continent and plead our case,” Jon points out again. 

“And if we all start running all around Westeros it is bound to make it back to Daenerys at some point,” Jaime agrees. 

Sansa tries to catch Arya’s eye as the talk goes on but she has pointedly been ignoring her through this entire meeting. She speaks up instead.

“I think it will have to be a combination of both,” Sansa starts, “Tormund will arrive within a fortnight and Jon can stay here to ask him about the wildlings. If they agree they will be able to mobilize quickly and that will allow the North and the Wildlings to move together. I have full confidence in the Iron Islands and the Eyrie. If I send a letter to Theon then him and Yara will have their ships mobilized when I say go. Yohn Royce was here under 4 months ago and he told me in no uncertain terms if I hear anything about moving against the Dragon Queen that the Eyrie will not be staying neutral this time around.”

Sansa pauses and Gendry actually pipes up, “I’ll have to go to Storm’s End though, I trust Edric but he is unpredictable and sometimes a bit daft. I’d like to be there to keep an eye on things.”

Sansa nods and says, “That’s fine, if you leave in the next day or two that still gives us plenty of time,” But she notices that Arya’s face shifted a bit when Gendry spoke up and seemed to sour at his words. 

“If Gendry is going to Storm’s End, I should go with him. Whenever either of us have travelled out in the past it’s been together and it will look strange if I stay here,” Arya manages to say this with a straight face but Sansa notices the faint blush that tinges around her temples. It’s a flimsy excuse and Arya knows it. But Sansa also notices Gendry looks quite pleased with Arya’s thinly veiled confession. 

Sansa nods at Arya, “That leaves Bran free to travel to Riverrun and prepare our uncle. I still think it is best if we have the bulk of the forces assemble there. It’s easily accessible for the forces from the Eyrie and Casterly Rock, as well as being just inland from the Iron Islands. When the Northerners and Wildlings come South it is a logical meeting place as well. The difficulty will come from Dorne and Storm’s End. But this can works to our advantage to as they can surround the city from the South,” Sansa finishes, despite not being a war strategist she can read a map and thinks her logic is fairly sound. 

“Well I don’t love leaving some of this to letters but I understand why it must be done. Me and Jaime will have to leave quite soon for Casterly Rock if we have hopes of convincing them,” Cersei concedes, “And do you have any ideas on how to get us there safely.”

Jon speaks up, “We are going to send Brienne with Bran so she’s a no go,” Cersei’s eyes bulge at the fact that Brienne was considered at all and Jaime tenses, “But we think the simplest way will be to send you with a force of Winterfell men, masquerading as traders.”

“And we are more than willing to keep Joanna and Ciseron here, out of harm’s way until everything is over,” Sansa says suddenly because she only just realized it’s impractical for the young children to travel into a future warzone, “Daenerys will never think your children would be hidden in Winterfell if something goes wrong.”

Cersei is silent and then her eyes flash shrewdly, “It also provides you with perfect hostages if you decide to turn on us.”

Sansa feels all eyes on her, “After being a hostage for years myself, I would never subject another’s child to that. You’ll have to take me at my word but I’m sure you know that my experience would make the thought quite repulsive to me.”

Cersei sighs and she notices Jaime is gripping her hand under the table, “Fine, you’re right and it probably is safest for them anyways. I’ll think about it a bit more and let you know for sure. That still leaves the issue of Dorne though, and this could all fall apart if we don’t secure them.”

Everyone lets Cersei’s words sink in. It was, Sansa knew, their biggest quandary at the moment. Leaving this information to a letter to arrive in Dorne was not realistic, it wasn’t a risk they could take. Silence envelopes the room.

And then a voice, “Well, I was thinking, and maybe I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it make sense for you to go to Dorne and talk to Arianne, Sansa? You’ve told me how well you two got on and how you would love to visit Dorne, especially now that she has children of her own. I’m sure she would be most amicable if the suggestion came from you and if she disagrees, hopefully you can convince her to keep our plans to herself,” Gilly, who hadn’t spoken through the entire ordeal says in one long breath. 

There’s a beat, and Sansa notices Sam, who’s also been very quiet, look at Gilly, a bit awed and a bit proud of this woman he so clearly loves. But then—

“Sansa can’t go all the way to Dorne. We need a Stark in Winterfell it won’t work,” Jon says with finality.

“But surely you’ll be here Jon, you have to wait for Tormund,” Bran doesn’t miss a beat, he looks amused all of a sudden. 

“Well that’s beside the point, if Arianne turns on us and takes Sansa hostage, it’s just a stupid risk!” Jon spits out, more urgently now. 

“Jon,” Sansa says slowly and turns towards him, “Did you think, that after you had Tormund and the Northern forces, that I was going to stay in Winterfell while all of this went on in the South? We were always going to have to leave Winterfell without a Stark, at least temporarily.”

Jon looks mortified. Gilly looks rather proud of herself and Sam sympathetic for his friend. Gendry is avoiding eye contact with anyone. Jaime looks like he’s keeping his mouth shut because he’s a bit knowing, he’s likely had similar conversations with Cersei. Cersei herself is smirking. Bran still looks amused and Arya, who Sansa actually makes eye contact with for a moment, looks a bit proud of her sister.

“Well, that’s… We can’t leave Winterfell unattended, Someone needs to be here. I—”Jon splutters and Arya cuts across him. 

“Just admit you don’t like the idea of Sansa putting herself in danger even though you know full well that she can take better care of herself than any of us.”

Sansa smiles at him, “I’ll be fine Jon, it was a good idea Gilly,” she nods at her friend.

“I just don’t understand why you need to leave the North for the fighting,” Jon replies stubbornly and Sansa knows that he realizes he is messing up.

“I don’t plan on being on the battlefield Jon,” Sansa rolls her eyes, “But I need to be on hand for the strategizing, the same as Cersei will want to be I’m sure. And I can’t help but notice you’re not freaking out about Bran going to Riverrun despite not being a fighter.”

Gendry barks out a laugh and looks sheepish when Sansa looks across at him but she gives him a smile. 

“Well then at least let me come with you, Sam will be here to talk to Tormund,” Jon continues. 

“First you’re saying we can’t leave Winterfell without a Stark, now you should come with me, I’m sorry my love but you can’t be serious right now,” Sansa is really having fun now. Protective Jon is secretly her favourite Jon, he’s just so fun for her to mess with, even just a bit. 

Jon lets out a strangled sigh and seems to realize he has been defeated. 

“My lady, if you please,” Brienne starts, Sansa has finally gotten her to call her Sansa in private but she still insists on such formalities in group settings even if their most ‘prestigious’ guests at the moment are the Lannisters, “I would feel better if I accompanied you to Dorne instead of your brother to Riverrun, I think the risks in Dorne are much greater.”

“Of course Brienne, I was thinking much the same thing already, you have no objection Bran?” Sansa smiles, barely holding in her laugh. 

“Of course not Sansa, sounds fine to me.”

Jon is practically red in the face but Sansa knows he’ll live. They’ll talk later and she knows he means well. Truthfully, even years later, it’s nice to have someone so concerned with her safety after years of feeling abandoned and alone. And Jon isn’t suffocating, his concerns are always reasonable even if his arguments for said concerns are somewhat ridiculous. 

“Thank you Gilly, I think you’re right and I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me, but if I leave for Dorne quickly I should have time to get there and doubleback to Riverrun before the fighting begins. It was an excellent idea and I’m sure Arianne will respect the request coming from me directly,” Sansa gives Gilly a genuine smile which she returns.

“Now that that’s all sorted, I think we should discuss matters of secrecy and how best to ensure Daenerys doesn’t know until the last moment possible,” Cersei says. 

And so the meeting dissolves into Cersei discussing how information travels and leaks in Westeros and how it all reaches King’s Landing eventually. It is her area of expertise and Sansa allows herself to be a bit mesmerized by everything Cersei has picked up on over her life.

“I think mainly just keep it all on a need to know basis until the day we decide to move all the forces. That way, once we’re out in the open and moving once her finding out is inevitable, we will all at least be on our way to battle. If we can keep it hidden until that day I think it gives us the best chance,” Cersei finishes after another hour of discussion. 

They all agree and finish up their plans for who is leaving when and how they will travel. Sansa is amazed that she is here in this room discussing war plans and strategy, and more importantly treason, with Cersei Lannister of all people. But Cersei didn’t get to be Queen for nothing. She has years of experience dealing with people and she knows how to keep information close to her chest. Sansa actually finds herself relieved that she has her on her side. Her insights have been valuable today and she hopes they will be going forward as well. 

They all start to file out of the room and Sansa notices Arya trying to be first out. She brushes by Jon and assures him that they can talk later. He looks worried but nods and he is definitely more calmed down than he was before. She rushes ahead to catch Arya. 

She’s lucky that the door leads into one hallway with one exit and they had all agreed that not everyone can go out at once in case someone sees them exiting the secret entrance. If she wasn’t confined she knows she never would’ve caught up with her sister who is so adept at sneaking around and disappearing.

“Arya wait up, we need to talk,” She shouts down the hall.

“Later Sansa, I’m not ready,” Arya has reached the door and is pulling it open and looking outside. 

Sansa reaches her and pulls her sister into the hall and closes the door behind them, concealing the door again. 

“Things are going to get very busy here and we’re both leaving in the next few days. I don’t want things to go unresolved and besides I want to hear you out,” Sansa says and then drops her arm from where she had grabbed Arya.

“Fine, follow me,” Arya huffs and leads them down a few passages to where her chambers are. They head inside and Arya locks the door. 

“What do you want to discuss,” Arya says as soon as she turns around and she makes her way to sit on her bed, as casual as ever.

“Arya,” Sansa begins, “You were hanging off my arm last night and raving about how Cersei is a lunatic if she thinks for a second you are capable of being the Lady of Winterfell. I’m pretty sure you had some choice insults for me as well but I ignored those, assuming you would return to your senses soon.”

Arya is quiet for a long while. She’s looking out her window and Sansa is about ready to give it up and leave it be when she speaks.

“It’s not me, it was never me, all these dresses, decorum and courtesy. I would be lousy at it, we should try harder to get Bran on board,” She says, and the sadness in her voice makes Sansa want to leap across the room and consume her sister in a tight embrace, that vulnerability is something she gets so little of with Arya.

“Arya, I’m going to be honest with you,” Sansa moves across the room and sits right beside her sister, Arya still won’t meet her eyes but she continues, “You’re not a Lady, not if you think that means fancy dresses and intricate hairstyles and having an embroidery circle. But you are a woman. And beyond that you’re a strong woman, the strongest I know. You would be a good Lady of Winterfell in ways that I’m not but you would succeed all the same. The North would respect you, a true Northern daughter, and the Lords would likely have an easier time talking to you. You don’t flinch away from battle and just because you prefer wearing pants doesn’t mean you couldn’t manage a castle. I have faith in you, but if it’s truly something you don’t want, I would never force it upon you. But please don’t think you would be a failure.”

Arya’s eyes had found Sansa’s at some point in the middle of all that and they look a bit glazed. Sansa feels her own eyes prickle. She takes her sister’s hand in a show of support and she hopes in comfort. 

“You think the Northern Lords don’t like talking to you?” Arya says finally.

Sansa lets out a watery laugh, “That’s what you got from all of that?”

Arya just looks at her as if to say she didn’t answer the question.

“I’m just saying they would find it easier to speak to you. You’re a she-wolf in every sense of the word. You look Northern and have that fierceness, the same way Jon does. They might go easier on you.”

Arya launches into a speech immediately and it’s like a cork popping, “Sansa they respect you. Don’t for a minute underestimate that power. I haven’t forgotten when they were ready to crown you Queen when Jon left. They think you’re the best thing that happened to the North. And you are strong! You’ve learned to be strong in a different way it’s true, but you’ve saved the North time and time again and you have fought for them. Just because you didn’t pick up a sword doesn’t mean you aren’t an integral part of why we are still standing here after the fight with the dead and with Daenerys. We’re the daughters of Ned and Catelyn and we embody them differently it’s true but the North was strong when it had both of them, and it’s strong now that it has both of us.”

Sansa is a bit disbelieving, it’s the most she’s gotten out of Arya in ages when it comes to serious conversations. And she’s touched, it means so much coming from Arya, who she’s always felt she had to live up to, who adopted that Northern fierceness so easily.

“This is why you would make a good Lady of Winterfell, you know how to make someone feel seen,” Sansa pulls her sister in for a hug, “Thank you that means so much to me Arya, I’ve tried so hard with the North, I really have.”

“But you’d give it up?” Arya asks into Sansa’s hair, and then she lets her sister go.

Sansa sighs, “If it’s what is best for Westeros, and by extension the North yes. Winterfell will always be home, for me and Jon both. But if Westeros needs us, hells, if they even want us, I know we will go. Especially if we can leave Winterfell in hands as capable as yours. And Bran would stay here, you could work together, Gendry too.”

Arya looks at Sansa now and nods seemingly resolved, “I’ll do it. If it comes to that I’ll do it, and not because I have to but because you believe I can. It wouldn’t be horrible and I know I care enough to do it well. And I guess I really couldn’t trust anyone else to do the job right if you’re gone.”

Sansa hugs Arya again, “If at the end it comes to that then we will talk about it again. You can always change your mind.”

“Well,” And Arya gets a glint in her eyes that alerts Sansa to the fact that whatever is about to come can’t be any good, “Until you’re the Queen of Westeros, then I guess you can just order me wherever you want me.”

And Arya bolts across the room before Sansa can hit her in the arm. And she’s running out the door before Sansa can say another word.

“Love you Sansa!” Comes floating in the door as she hears Arya laughing all the way down the hall. 

As it goes, Sansa and Jon don’t get a chance to talk privately until they’re both back in their chamber later on. They’d both been busy the rest of the afternoon and then supper was always a busy affair in the great hall. Jon had a meeting with some of the guards after dinner and Sansa went to get Catelyn from her septas. 

She was carrying Cat back to their room and thinking about how soon she’d be too old for the crib and they’d have to allow her her own rooms. It was a sad thought, she loved having Cat with them, close and safe. But it was happy too, to see their daughter grow up safe and happy.

She arrived in their chambers and Jon was already in his night clothes and going over some parchment at the desk they had in the room. He came over and gave Sansa a peck on the cheek, taking Cat from her arms and holding their sleeping daughter close.

“She went down well?” He inquires.

“Septa Muncton said she’s been out for an hour,” Sansa says and starts changing. 

“I guess she’s going to be big enough for her own room pretty soon,” Jon says as he lays her down.

Sansa finishes changes and laughs, “I was just thinking the same thing on my way over here.”

“I mean it’s not a bad thing but it is quite comforting having her here, just in case she needs anything. But she’ll grow up no matter what we do,” Jon comes across the room.

He wraps his arms around Sansa from behind and stands there for a moment with his head resting on her back. She folds her hands over his and closes her eyes. It’s these quiet moments she treasures most with Jon. After fighting so much to get here it makes it all worth it.

He turns her around but keeps her in his arms, “I’m sorry about earlier. I know you can handle yourself. It just caught me off guard. And you going to Dorne does worry me, but I trust Brienne, and if you trust in Arianne, I trust you.”

“I know Jon, I’m not mad,” She pulls back from him and smiles, “It was quite amusing actually.”

“Oh you’re all quite evil honestly, I’ll have to talk with Sam about this wife of his, who does Gilly think she is outsmarting us all like that. I swear she and Sam should be Lord and Lady around here and let us take a break,” Jon says with a chuckle. 

“Oh, I’ve always known Gilly is smarter than all of us together,” Sansa says, “And that reminds me, Arya actually agreed she wouldn’t mind being Lady of Winterfell.”

Jon breaks their embrace and raises his eyebrows, “Really?”

“We had a good talk. She knows she has it in her now I think. It’s not that she hates the idea, it’s just that she gets hung up on not being ‘enough’ of a Lady.”

“And are you okay, with us being King and Queen? If that is how it all goes down in the end, with leaving Winterfell,” Jon asks her honestly. 

Sansa laughs, “Are you? I don’t see how we would have much choice if it came to that. It’s not horrible. The north will always be our home. Maybe we can move the capital? It can all be decided later. But if I have you by my side, and Catelyn safe, I’m willing to do anything to keep that.”

Jon nods, “I won’t lie, it would be hard to leave the North. But if Westeros needs rulers once we deal with Daenerys, and if they want us, I know we will do it. For them, for our people.”

Sansa grabs Jon’s hand, “Enough talk of the future, come to bed.”

They make their way over to the bed and crawl into blankets. Sansa rests her head on Jon’s chest and sighs contentedly. 

“I’ll miss you you know, when I’m in Dorne” Sansa says.

“Not nearly as much as I’ll miss you my love,” Jon kisses her hair. 

“It will be quite the reunion in Riverrun though,” Sansa twists so she is laying on top of Jon, “It’s always better when we’ve been separated for awhile.”

Jon, catching her drift quickly captures her mouth in a kiss and moves his hands to grab her waist. 

“If we’re moving Cat into her own room soon, maybe it’s time we gave her some siblings,” He breaks the kiss and flips them over, breathing heavily.

Sansa looks up at Jon and feels her stomach swirl when their eyes lock, after all this time, “Princes and Princesses, they’ll be Princes and Princesses,” Sansa smiles and kisses him, bringing him down towards her.

And for one night two wolves come together at the end of Winter, unaware of what their futures hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! this is my favourite chapter to date, I really enjoyed the banter, especially with Sansa and Arya and some of the lightness. Also I hope that last comment about princes and princesses didn't come across too? idk power hungry lol, I just thought it was sweet and dreaming of a brighter future. Leave a comment if you're enjoying where I'm taking this!


	7. it's not forgiveness that i seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about not updating on Sunday, life has been busy! Back to the Dragon Queen we go :)

Ser Jorah had been back two days and it already had Daenerys more at ease than she had been in weeks. His diplomatic talks in Dorne had gone well and it allowed Daenerys to breathe a little easier. The negotiations of trade and gold had been easier than expected and Jorah seemed to have no worries about their continued allegiance to the throne. Dorne had worried Daenerys from the start, what with their complicated history with Targaryens and resentment towards the crown, but they had proved a valuable and steadfast ally all these years. Daenerys wasn’t sure that she could consider Arianne Martell a friend, but there was a mutual respect there. She had only interacted with her briefly and in company of others during the summit that decided the fate of the seven kingdoms, and Daenerys had not made her way to Dorne, however Arianne did come to King’s Landing for about a month last year and they had had ample time together then. It put Daenerys’ mind at rest to know that all their talks hadn’t been for naught.

Daenerys was quite enjoying her small council meeting for once, they had remained fully focused on Jorah’s trip and the information he brought from Dorne. She didn’t have to listen to Tyrion’s worries about their depleted gold or Varys’ droning on about making sure the small folk had enough food. Best of all she hadn’t had to hear any fears about her dragons, or placate any concerns about their presence damaging livestock numbers. She had been enjoying listening to Jorah’s voice in the background, he had filled her in on much of his journey privately over cups of wine the first night he got back so she looked around at the room and observed.

Tyrion, as usual, walked around the room, he rarely stayed still during these meetings. He responded theatrically to many of Jorah’s insights and was making several jokes at the expense of the Dornish. On Daenerys’ right side of the table was Jorah himself, and beside him Varys. Varys had spoken little, as was his way, but had inquired a few times about how the people of Dorne were doing outside of Sunspear. Admittedly, Daenerys had come to rely on Varys much more than she would like to. While Tyrion told her Varys’ network of spies was not what they were in the time of Robert and Cersei’s rules, from her perspective Varys provided them with so much vital information that she didn’t know how she would run the kingdom without him. Still she never felt like she fully had him, he was too preoccupied with what everyone else was doing it seemed. She wanted his attention to be on her and the throne but his obsession with the small people was grating.

On Daenerys’ left were Missandei and Grey Worm. Neither of them ever spoke much during these meetings, Grey Worm talked to her about anything guard related when he had to but often approached her privately instead of with the group. As for Missandei, Daenerys hadn’t given her an official title on the small council, her council was unconventional anyways, but after things had settled she had insisted that Missandei attended meetings with her, she was her closest advisor and long time friend. Missandei seemed wary but she had come anyways, she often let Daenerys’ have small insights she had observed afterwards but usually kept silent while the rest of them talked. 

And that was it, it was a small council indeed. But Daenerys felt these were the only people she needed. She had flat out refused to have a Maester at these meetings and had taken so much time to be convinced to even talk with the church. It had, as it so often was, been Tyrion who brought her around to that particular concession. 

“Look at it this way, I am the last man to step foot in a Sept, but the church is power. If we cooperate with them and respect them we gain that power, it increases our hold across Westeros and if anything ever arises they do have a lot of gold that can be put to our use instead of some other rebellious house who has shown more piety than the throne,” Tyrion had told her once over cups of wine in his chambers. 

As for bringing anyone new into the council, it was simply a risk Daenerys was unwilling to take. 

“She inquired about Sansa Stark? Well that is curious,” Tyrion mused and he actually stopped pacing around the room to stare at Jorah outright. 

Daenerys was pulled out of her reverie and actually pulled back into the thread of conversation, it seemed Sansa Stark still had that effect on her. 

“Sorry, what were you saying about Sansa, Jorah?” Daenerys touched his arm and pulled his gaze to hers. He had not said anything about the Stark woman in their talk the other night. 

Jorah looked nervous. Daenerys had known him for a long time and she could read him. She thought that he was worried about how Daenerys might react to whatever he was about to tell her. She couldn’t fault him entirely, her track record with Sansa was not the greatest and any news about her had the possibility to set her off. Still, she expected him to know by this point that not telling her would only make her angrier. She waited.

“Nothing, Your Grace,” Jorah looked at her now, “It really is nothing. I was just recalling that there was one conversation with Arianne I had where the North came up. We had been discussing negotiations and she asked how negotiations had been going with the other Kingdoms. I responded that that is information Your Grace would like to keep private and she said something about wanting to have more trade with the North. I said we have had little to do with the North and she asked if I knew how the North was doing and if Lord and Lady Stark had any plans to come South anytime soon or if they loved their snow castles so much. She said maybe they could learn to tolerate sand castles just as well, and that was the end of the conversation.”

Daenerys had calmed as Jorah had explained the situation and said, “Thank you, I understand why you didn’t recall it in our earlier discussion, it seems so insignificant.”

Despite Daenerys’ calm, she couldn’t help but notice the look that was being exchanged between Tyrion and Varys. They looked a bit unnerved and Varys especially looked as if he was contemplating something very serious. 

“Well,” Varys started, “Your Grace…” 

“Did you ever think what Arianne might have garnered from that conversation Jorah? It’s not as innocent as you might think,” Tyrion cuts in during Varys’ silence. 

Daenerys sat up a little straighter and Tyrion actually made his way to his seat, a sure sign that this might be serious. But Daenerys was still lost. 

“It was hardly illuminating, she said nothing about the Starks, just asked about the North in general,” Daenerys implored. 

“Yes,” Varys continued now, “But Jorah’s slip implies that we are not having these negotiations with the North, information that Arianne can now do with whatever she wishes.”

A silence settles over the table.

“Oh, I don’t think she would get that from one little comment—” Jorah starts but Daenerys interrupts him and looks to Varys. 

“Do you really think she would realize that?” She hates the worry that seeps into her voice. 

“All I’m saying Your Grace, is that it is dangerous information, if only potentially. If Arianne chooses she could now go to the North and report that we are in trade and gold negotiations with the rest of the Kingdoms and that we are even intentionally ignoring the North. She is not a stupid woman, and if she wants to cause strife it is the perfect information to have,” Varys finishes.

Daenerys takes a deep breath. It is something she has taken to doing when any of the people closest to her frustrate her beyond belief. Why does she have these people around if they make such rudimentary mistakes? 

“I know that you meant no harm Ser Jorah, but that kind of slip is unacceptable, it puts our position which is precarious, at risk. Especially with one of our closest allies,” Daenerys reigns in her anger.

“My apologies Khaleesi, it won’t happen again,” Jorah bows his head.

Daenerys is placated for the moment but the entire situation is worrisome. If Arianne is poking around it could mean she has bigger plans, and apparently Tyrion agrees.

“I just don’t like that she is even talking about the North. I know they set up some basic trade recently but I hoped to keep their interactions limited. It might actually be beneficial to open negotiations with the North, if we can provide them with what they need they won’t have to go elsewhere, as a means of control,” Tyrion says. 

“The North has not asked for our help,” Daenerys says bluntly.

This topic has been discussed over and over again. They have entered into negotiations with the other Kingdoms as they have reached out to the Crown for help. But the Starks it seemed, were too proud to come to her, and frankly Daenerys had no interest in giving out help if they weren’t at least going to come to her first, they had bent the knee for gods’ sake so why was it so hard to ask if they needed something. 

“I understand, of course Your Grace,” Tyrion nods, “I just hate the idea of Arianne Martell and Sansa Stark getting too friendly. They control powerful Kingdoms and are both politically minded.”

“And I am the Queen, in case you have forgotten Tyrion,” Daenerys feels heat spreading through her body, “Me and my dragons lay between Dorne and the North so I’m quite sure if the two of them are even visiting each other, we will hear about it well in advance, that is what we have Lord Varys for after all. The seven kingdoms are under my power and the Ladies Arianne and Sansa both understand that. If they don’t, they know what will happen to them and their families.”

Everyone around the room looks at her a bit awed, maybe a bit fearful, or a lot fearful in the case of Varys. But this is what Daenerys has always liked best about a Khaleesi, and now about being a Queen. The awe she could inspire in others, she knows that she has an unspeakable power, power that comes from her blood, that comes from her dragons. The heat she felt spreading is now a full burn fire coming directly from her heart. Submissive adoration compares to nothing else.

Surprisingly, it was Missandei who spoke next.

“And, if I may say, Your Grace. I don’t think we have anything to worry about when it comes to Arianne. After her trip here last year, you know how much she came to respect you and the friendship the two of you formed is strong, she barely knows Lady Stark.”

Daenerys smiles at Missandei but she can’t fully ignore the voice in the back of her head. Are her and Arianne friends? She could never really tell, surely everyone who had seen them had thought so and she had told her friends and advisors they had hit it off, but she felt like Arianne kept her at arms length. It was unnerving enough to have to talk politically to another woman, and one who was so self assured, she couldn’t help but fear that she had missed something in all the hours they had spent talking. 

~~~

Arianne’s time in the Capital had been busy and fraught with meetings, with other houses and other people visiting King’s Landing. But Daenerys had spent quite a bit of time with her outside of meetings that seemed to bore them both. She felt she had got to know the woman reasonably well. But still over a year later there is one conversation that stays with her, it was brief but significant.

It had been on the eve before Arianne and the Dornish were setting out to leave. There had been a great feast and quite the celebration and on the way back to their chambers Daenerys had invited Arianne back to her rooms for one last glass of wine. 

While they had laughed and joked most of the evening Daenerys felt herself sober up when Arianne had brought the conversation around to the North.

In a lull of conversation, Arianne spoke over her wine glass, “Have you considered the North?”

“What do you mean?” Daenerys said, with trepidation. 

“Well from my talks with people here they are the only Kingdom who hasn’t visited their new Queen since the coronation, doesn’t it bother you?” Arianna asked with genuine surprise.

Daenerys responded carefully, “My history with Jon is complicated… And Sansa Stark has never liked me, so I don’t expect them to come to King’s Landing unless summoned, they are Northerners, they are different.”

“You’re repeating what your advisors have told you about the North, but don’t you think it is odd? Everyone has come themselves or sent representatives to King’s Landing,” Arianne sips on her wine, prodding Daenerys further.

“There are some things I think you misunderstand Arianne,” Daenerys says with what she hopes is finality.

“Ahh, you mean the fact that you fell in love with Jon Snow, causing Sansa to dislike you from the go, and then, months later he left you for Sansa Stark anyway and retreated to the North,” Arianne says with a wry smile and downs the remainder of her wine.

Daenerys is stunned. It has been ages since anyone spoke so plainly to her, and while she knew much of Westeros had surmised what had happened between the three of them, to have it outlined so bluntly and to her face, leaves her speechless. 

“Still though, two other Stark siblings are alive and well, surely they can spare one wolf for a visit at least,” Arianne continues.

Daenerys knew she must proceed with caution. While she was fuming with what Arianne had said they had spent weeks crafting a close relationship with her and needed her to remain that way. If Arianne was baiting her she wouldn’t let this woman win.

“Let me be honest,” Daenerys starts sweetly, “If it were my choice Sansa Stark would have nothing to do with the North, or Jon for that matter. Unfortunately the North adores them as you well know, there would be riots across the continent if I were to try and dispose of them. If I hadn’t allowed the Starks to keep Winterfell, I wouldn’t have the throne.”

Arianne scoffs, “You have your dragons, surely you can have anything you want. You are the Queen.”

“And I haven’t forgotten that, but the Starks are quiet. If they remain so they have nothing to worry about. And if they start to become a problem, well Rhaegal especially seemed to enjoy his time in the North, I may need to pay a visit,” Daenerys flashes a sharp smile.

“I see, well don’t forget that the North remembers and that is more than some ancient house words, Your Grace. Sansa Stark and Jon Snow won back their ancestral home after Lord and Lady Stark were murdered along with two of their brothers. They have a pack now, if you aim to take out one Stark, the North will rise for them,” Arianne finishes, but she quickly changes the subject after that and the serious subject is dropped. But it stuns Daenerys the pivot Arianne took, from telling her to demand respect from the North to warning her against their power.

It is not until hours later that Daenerys considers if she was in fact being baited and into what exactly?

~~~

As the memory washes over Daenerys she feels a chill rushing up her spine. She never told anyone about that last conversation with Arianne, and the next morning when they said farewell Arianne had acted as pleasant as ever. But now Daenerys realized that maybe Arianne was indeed fishing, for what exactly Daenerys was unsure, but it was twice that she had brought up the North, once with her and once with Jorah. Both instances were private and could be brushed off as simple conversation, but still she would do well to be aware that Arianne might be looking for fissures. 

Before anyone could say anything else though there was a commotion from the other side of the room as people toppled in through the doors.

Everyone raised to their feet quickly. Jorah quickly angled Daenerys behind him and Daenerys notes that Grey Worm was drawing his weapon too. She just had time to notice that he angled slightly more in front of Missandei than herself before her attention was drawn fully to the door. 

“Apologies Your Grace, I told them they could not come in but they insisted it was of utmost importance,” Daenerys hears the guard who had stood outside the room saying but she cannot see him. In front of their table now are two men. She recognizes them as two of the six men she sent to Essos moons ago to hunt down Cersei and Jaime in Lys. She zones everything else out instantly. 

“What news do you bring,” She says eagerly and looks back and forth between them, as if expecting a head to materialize. 

“Your Grace our apologies,” The first one begins hastily, “We do not have the Lannister twins but we do have an update and vital information to bring you.”

Daenerys says nothing but purses her lips and waits for them to continue.

The other says, “When we arrived in Lys we heard that there was a couple and their children who had fled not the day before we arrived, they were living in a small village outside the city and it was all anyone could talk about. They had been going by the names Sicily and Typhus but they seemed to match the descriptions. We did some investigating around the ports and we heard that there was a couple who had fled with two small children only a day before and they seemed quite eager to go undetected. The person who noticed them wasn’t sure which ship they had taken but they were definitely bound for Westeros.”

“Westeros!” Daenerys all but yells and she is making for the other side of the table, “You’re telling me you let the Lannister filth slip through your fingers, and worse that they are coming here, to my land and that nobody even knows where they were getting off?”

The two men look sheepish. In a flash Daenerys knows that what she will do next will be met with reproach but she can’t find herself to care.

“Grey Worm, kindly escort these men to the cells, and round up their companions, there should be four others. They will stay there while I consider whether or not to let them live after this massive failure,” Grey Worm’s eyes flash to those around the room but he nods at Daenerys and makes his way to the men.

“Your Grace, please, no! We will locate them but we just wanted to update you on what was happening, please! I beg you!” The first one is looking panicked now. 

“You should’ve thought of that before you came back with no Lannisters and a failed mission,” Daenerys turns her back and faces the rest of the council but she hears both men continue to protest in the background. 

Jorah looks protective and still has his sword in hand and Missandei looks worried but both Varys and Tyrion have carefully neutral expressions. It infuriates Daenerys, their secrecy, their control of their emotions.

“LYS!” Daenerys rages around the room, “I told you all for years that we should check on it and you both advised me against it,” She points at Tyrion and Varys now, “and now they have slipped through my fingers again. Cersei is back in Westeros, this is all we have feared! And who is to blame? My closest advisors, of course.”

“Your Grace,” Varys starts, deferential now, “I admit, having been from Lys myself I always assumed that it would be a poor place for the Lannisters to hide, it is a pleasure city. And I never imagined that Cersei would relinquish enough of her comforts to live outside of a city and in a small village. It was not something I had considered.”

Daenerys is the one pacing now. She feels herself losing control. Cersei fucking Lannister is in Westeros. This could ruin everything. Even without allies Cersei is incredibly dangerous. Daenerys cannot even imagine where she would go at this point but the fact that she is here at all, lurking somewhere. It makes her want to ride Drogon from the Wall to Dorne until she finds Cersei and can burn her, to see her suffer, it is what she has wanted for so long. 

“That does nothing to help me now Varys,” Daenerys says, a bit calmer now, “We need to plan how to hunt down Cersei. I need lists of what houses might be sympathetic to her cause, who would take her in. I want reports from the Rock but I doubt she would be foolish enough to go there, surely she knows we have it under control.”

Varys nods. 

Daenerys turns to Tyrion, who surprisingly still hasn’t moved.

“And you Tyrion? You have spearheaded this hunt for so long, I have no doubt that you are enraged your sister is back in Westeros? You, who for so long have led a witch hunt that seemed to take us anywhere but where she actually was?” Daenerys cannot help but have suspicion leak into her voice. 

“Khaleesi, you know that Tyrion hates that woman more than any of us can imagine,” Jorah says carefully from somewhere behind her.

Tyrion is still silent. 

“He doesn’t hate Jaime though, never Jaime. Tell me Tyrion, tell me that I have not misplaced my trust in you. I suspected you of helping Cersei for so long and then when she escaped I was certain, but your alibi that night… Varys himself says he saw you miles from the cells enjoying some party in a brothel. Have you deceived me like so many have before,” Daenerys is desperate, she doesn’t want to lose Tyrion but she feels her blood boiling, she doesn’t see how else this could’ve happened, “Only the people in this room even knew I was sending men to Lys, how is it possible they managed to escape if they weren’t tipped off in advance.”

“Daenerys,” Tyrion breaks his silence finally and his expression is still unreadable, “I hate Cersei, I always have. Don’t you think if I had any feeling of family loyalty left I would have wanted to take the Rock. You yourself once offered it to me despite the fact that I am your Hand. I want nothing to do with the Lannister name and those who still hold it, I care nothing for my family except for our gold. I will bring Cersei to her knees and you will have your vengeance, and I will have the peace I have wanted for years. I promise you, my Queen, I will give you Cersei Lannister if it is the last thing I am able to do.”

Tyrion has moved to stand right in front of Daenerys. He looks up at her and Daenerys sees the hatred in his eyes, feels the anger in him. She thinks suddenly that perhaps nobody has ever understood her more than this man. Two people alone, betrayed by the family they had left. Jaime and Cersei for him, Viserys and Jon for her. People who understood what it was to fight for what you had and to be more than those who came before you. Together they had broken the wheel and Daenerys knew, as she always had, that she had made the right choice in trusting Tyrion. Her earlier fears are diminished again.

She nods at him.

She looks around the room at Jorah, Missandei, and Varys, “Then let us begin, we must plan how to deal with this, quickly and hopefully quietly.”

After hours of planning on how best to track down Cersei, Daenerys was back in her chambers with Missandei. She had asked her friend to stay with her tonight. She knew that Missandei now often spent her nights with Grey Worm but on occasion she would request the other woman’s presence. It had been so long since she had had a lover, none since Jon. After becoming a Queen she was oft reminded that in Westeros a Queen who took a lover publically as she had in Essos would not have respect for long. As much as it infuriated her she also didn’t feel as if she could trust anyone, not after Jon. She often missed Daario and wondered if he missed her. So on these nights with Missandei, it was simply nice to have a warm body beside her. 

“It still bothers me, to know she is here, in Westeros,” Daenerys says as she changes into her night clothes. 

Missandei is already over in the bed and turns her head to Daenerys, “We will find her, you know we will.”

“Still it makes no sense, I simply cannot figure out where she would find shelter,” Daenerys wonders aloud.

It was something that had had them talking in circles. Nobody could figure out who might aid the old Queen now that she had lost everything. 

Daenerys is just slipping into the sheets when Missandei begins, “I was thinking, perhaps…” Missandei pauses and Daenerys looks at her with wide eyes, “Maybe she had thought to go North, nobody brought it up. But it is the Kingdom you fear disobedience from the most. Surely Cersei knew that you and Sansa did not get along, she could hope to spread discord further and rally the Starks against you if she knew there was already trouble there.”

Daenerys cannot help it. For the first time all day she laughs. Full belly laughing that brings tears to her eyes.

“Oh, good one Missandei,” Daenerys says while still laughing, “If there was one place that Cersei could go that would ensure a swifter death than if she were to walk into my throne room it would be her showing up in the courtyard of Winterfell. I think the only person Sansa Stark hates more than me is Cersei herself, can you imagine? Cersei actually being stupid enough to go North.”

Daenerys has finally pulled herself together and notices Missandei is not laughing. She has a troubled expression on her face. 

“Your right Your Grace, it was a foolish thought, I only thought Cersei might go where you least expect her but surely you’re right, Sansa would have her executed on the spot, sleep well,” Missandei rolls over and lays her head onto the pillow. 

Her somber tone takes Daenerys by surprise but she lays down anyways. 

In the morning she won’t remember but Daenerys’ dreams trouble her. It seems that she is a child sitting on the floor and when she looks up the faces of Arianne Martell, Sansa Stark, and Cersei Lannister are looming over her and worse, they are laughing, cackling. She sleeps restlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, thanks for your continued support! I hope to be able to post this weekend but I will be out of town so it might be a bit delayed again. I really don't have a backstory for how/why Arianne has survived and is now ruling Dorne but I really enjoy her character in the books and wanted to include her here. And I just wanted to say I am loving writing this story so much and I'm glad that you are all here with me :) The next chapters will be the Winterfell gang setting out and saying goodbye so look forward to that!


	8. you know that we are northern now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! Sorry for the delay. I was travelling and then I got very sick when I got home. I hope you enjoy, I really enjoyed writing that last Jonsa scene so I hope you like that as well :)

The last few days had been a whirlwind and Sansa felt as if she could pass out on the spot. It did not bode well for the months ahead of them. She had grown soft in the years of peace and her body isn't used to these long hours of strategizing and scheming. She had called for a hot bath after breakfast as she was unsure when she would be able to next have one. She planned to leave for Dorne with Brienne this evening, taking advantage of the night to make a discrete exit.

As she soaked in the soapy water she closed her eyes and took a moment to think about their plans. She had spent so much time crafting the letters they would send to the Iron Islands and the Eyrie that when she finally sent the ravens last night she couldn’t help but feel like she had missed something vital. It was nerve racking, disclosing so much information in these letters. She trusted Theon and Yara, her cousin Robin and Yohn Royce as well, but putting her words in writing, as the Lady of Winterfell, made everything real. If the wrong person got ahold of the letters it would be more than enough of a reason for Daenerys to have her head, or in her case more likely burn her alive. 

She pictured those ravens now, flying over the expanse of the North, they could have made it to opposite ends of the continent by now, reaching opposing seas. If the birds were fast. Theon might open her letter tomorrow morning. What would Yohn Royce think now that what they had discussed at length so many times before was finally happening?

Sansa submerged her head in the water and attempted to clear her mind but it was proving a futile exercise. The letters were gone but her thoughts turned to her siblings. Arya, with Gendry, and Bran had both left Winterfell yesterday. Arya and Gendry alone, Bran with a small troop of Northern men they trusted with his safety and who could aid him with his special riding saddle. The affair had been a somber one and the four remaining Starks had said their farewells in a small room off the courtyard. 

~~~

In truth the Starks had not been separated much at all since they returned to Winterfell all those years ago. Jon and herself had both spent so much time rebuilding the North and Bran had been by their side as a valued advisor. True, Arya had ventured out here and there but she was never gone more than a moon at a time and Sansa never felt fearful that she wouldn’t return. 

So now, standing in a small disused room saying goodbye felt wrong. It felt, for the first time in ages, that they might not live to see each other again.

“We’ll all be in Riverrun in under two moons if all goes to plan, there’s no need for tears Sansa,” Bran says, breaking the silence when he notices the tears in Sansa’s eyes.

Sansa sniffs, “I’m not crying.”

Arya rolls her eyes, “We love you anyways, someone has to bring the tears or it’ll just be me making jokes, Jon repressing his emotions, and Bran being overly sensible.”

They all laugh at that, Sansa included, even if hers is a bit more watery than the others. 

“Just promise me you’ll both be careful, mother and father would never forgive me if I sent you away and you didn’t come back. Don’t forget the last time we all left Winterfell it went to shit pretty quick,” Sansa looks at them, finding a sternness in her voice.

Arya quirks an eyebrow at Sansa cursing but it’s Jon who speaks up, “Come on Sansa, you know they’re more than capable of looking after themselves. The three eyed raven and a faceless man? Anyone who wants to take them down doesn’t know anything about wolves.”

“You know I’m not the three eyed raven anymore,” it’s Bran’s turn to roll his eyes, “But Jon’s point stands Sansa, I’m going to our Uncle’s. Edmure will welcome me with open arms, he will stress about everyone coming to Riverrun to mount an attack but he will prepare for them anyways. It’s the Tully way. And if he doesn’t mother’s ghost will come and smite him down.” 

Bran is smiling by the end of this and Jon nods at him. Before Sansa can turn to Arya she speaks up herself, “And me and Gendry are experts at travelling discreetly so we’ll be fine. As for Edric, he can be a bit of a dolt from the one time I met him but he’ll do whatever Gendry asks after he gave him Storm’s End. He knows enough that Daenerys is a threat to everyone.”

Arya pauses and then, “And if he doesn’t, I’ll steal into his room, take his face and lead his men for him.”

Sansa’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. And she hates how after all this time Arya can still say these things that shock the hell out of her. Jon and Bran are both snickering but Arya and Sansa are locked in a staring match. 

“Point taken,” Sansa concedes, “But don’t let your guard down. There are ears everywhere and we know that Daenerys is going to inevitably find out, just be prepared!”

“Oh, fine we will Sansa, just lay off!” Somehow Bran and Arya say this in unison, and while it makes her happy it reminds her of the days when they were little and she would look after them. They would always team up against her, siblings through and through. So much has changed for them all and it’s about to once again. But so much has stayed the same, they’re still wolves at heart. Northerners to the bone

“Okay everyone in, group hug. Arya and Bran have to get on the road,” Jon starts pulling the three of them in.

And for a moment Sansa is enveloped in the warmth of all of them. They stay there for a few seconds and it strengthens her resolve. She is making the right decision. She is doing this for them, her family but she’s also doing it for this feeling, for safety. And for all the other families that Daenerys has no regard for. All she wants is to keep her family together and to help other people to do that for their families as well. 

As they all pull apart Sansa hears Bran asking Jon something about his saddle as they make their way to the door so she grabs Arya’s arm for one last word.

“Hey, just wait,” Sansa says as Arya turns.

Arya just looks at Sansa expectantly. 

“Don’t be afraid to let Gendry take care of you. If something happens. You don’t always have to play the hero you know,” Sansa says.

“Oh yes,” Arya says mockingly, “Just as you let Jon protect you by running off to Dorne.”

“That’s not the same,” Sansa sighs, “And what I meant was that he loves you. Let him sometimes.”

Arya just goes still and then she’s pulling her sister into a tight hug.

“Love you Sansa,” she squeezes her tighter, “Good luck with Arianne. Give her hell if you have to.”

They let go of each other and Sansa smiles at her sister. They start to make their way out.

“And please don’t actually steal anyone’s face”

“No promises,” and then just as Arya is about to walk into the courtyard, “Is that a new dress? It felt more padded than usual. I thought it was supposed to be getting warmer and we could stop triple lining things.”

~~~

Yes, Arya’s comment had nestled into Sansa’s mind and had made her focusing on the tasks at hand infinitely more difficult. She hadn’t been able to see her Maester until just before her bath and he had confirmed her suspicions. Because it hadn’t been a new dress. It wasn’t something that was unwelcome but the idea of being pregnant, now, was at least slightly inconvenient. 

She had wondered when Arya said it. She was still so early, to have any noticeable effect was surprising. But really it hadn’t been noticeable. She had looked at her stomach in the mirror last night. It looked its usual shape, maybe protruding very slightly as if she had ate a large meal but nothing she would’ve noticed herself. Arya though, she was so attuned to the body, to fine details, the slightest alterations are something she could pick up. And it had been Arya who had noticed Sansa’s first pregnancy as well. Sometimes a sister just knows, Sansa guesses.

Sansa’s bath water is starting to lose its hot edge but she runs her hand over her still flat stomach. Another baby. Another Stark. For so long she had thought she was the last Stark. She had thought her house would die with her. She had found Jon, they had lost Rickon, but Arya and Bran had returned to them. And now she and Jon were parenting a new generation of Starks. If, gods forbid, her and Jon perished in this war she would make sure Cat was safe. House Stark would survive in their daughter, Catelyn Stark. And hopefully she would live to have this new babe as well. A brother or sister for Cat to grow up with. 

She hadn’t even told Jon. She knew she would before leaving today but she had only just found out and she wanted a moment to relish in it, the feeling of pregnancy and knowing that she grew life inside her. It healed her, from her past and it would guide her into the future. She had something indescribably important to fight for, for now her body was not just her own. 

Her thoughts turned back to Arya and Bran. With them and the letters gone it just left herself and the Lannister twins to make their departures. Cersei and Jaime were leaving this afternoon. Their disguises were set and the disguised traders were ready to escort them all the way to the Rock. This was the hardest part for her. She had learned to trust Cersei, here in her own domain, where she had control. But she had to trust Cersei now to go and do what they agreed to, that’s where things got dicey for her.

Suddenly her chamber door slams open.

“My apologies Sansa,” Gilly is standing there looking a bit frantic, “I convinced the maids to let me in, said it was urgent.”

Gilly closes the door behind her and makes her way towards the tub.

Sansa feels no sense for some modesty with her dear friend but sinks into the remaining bubbles regardless, “Of course Gilly, what is it?”

“Cersei Lannister has insisted that the two of you talk before she departs and I knew I should come get you right away. She won’t leave until she sees you.”

“Of course she won’t,” Sansa sighs and sits up, reaching for a towel, “Give me a few minutes Gilly I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

~~~

Less than an hour later Sansa is at the door to the chambers where Cersei has been staying. Her hair is still damp for god's sake. This better be worth her time. She can’t imagine what Cersei possibly requires but for some reason she was intrigued when Gilly came bursting in.

She enters the room and Cersei is sitting at the small table by the sole window the room has. She looks every bit the Queen that Sansa knew years ago. Despite not wearing a grand dress or styling her hair in intricate curls, she holds herself with the air of someone important. She doesn’t even glance over when the door opens. Just keeps looking out the window, a wine goblet in hand. To Sansa she seems to be looking at the falling snow.

“The horses are ready to go, the men are saddling them up. It’s been a long time since I rode with any regularity but I guess it can’t be helped,” Cersei speaks without turning her head. When Sansa doesn’t say anything she continues.

“Gilly brought Jaime and the children to another room. Where we will be able to say goodbye,” Cersei says and finally turns herself to where Sansa stands, still near the threshold.

“Yes, she told me,” Sansa responds stiffly.

“Gilly is a good woman. I understand why you keep her here. She’s sweet with the children and as much as I abhor the thought of leaving them here, I trust her to look after them. It shocks even me, how I can trust so much easier now. You were right, they’ll be safest here if something happens,” Cersei reaches for the flagon of wine and pours some into her own glass and the empty one accompanying it. She gestures for Sansa to sit on the other chair.

“Why have you called on me Cersei, I must admit, being summoned in my own castle is not something I am accustomed to,” Sansa says as she makes her way to the table. She reaches for the wine but stops herself when she recalls the conversation with the Maester this morning. Perhaps not, her hand stills.

“Oh go on Sansa, surely the Lady of Winterfell can indulge this once. We are about to go to war,” Cersei notices the hesitation and takes another swig from her own glass but when Sansa makes no move for the wine she gives her a strange look, “Unless you’re…”

Sansa’s face must give something away despite her years of practice at concealment because Cersei seems to come to the conclusion herself.

The silence hangs over them until Cersei speaks again.

“I won’t say anything, not even to Jaime. That is very dangerous information going forward, especially if the Targaryen bitch finds out, she already has too many reasons to despise you,” Despite herself, Sansa believes the words Cersei is saying. 

She knows that this woman before her won’t betray her. She can’t reconcile her with the one she knew in King’s Landing.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Sansa probes when Cersei turns her attention outside again. 

Cersei looks contemplative. When they were in King’s Landing she knew Cersei to often be rash and impulsive. Spewing the first words that came to mind and lashing out at those around her. But she seems to deeply consider the words she is about to say.

Cersei turns herself fully towards Sansa and levels her with a look that only Cersei is capable of, “I wanted to apologize to you. I expect nothing from you in return but I am sorry. The way I treated you in King’s Landing, it was a dark time for me, for the both of us. I make no excuses but I hope that maybe now that you have your own children you can understand, I did the things I did because I thought it the best way to protect them. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. The boys especially.”

Sansa is stunned momentarily but she recovers, “You stood by and watched as Joffrey mocked and humiliated me. He inflicted cruelty on me because of the ideas you put into his head about my family. You never stopped him or even attempted to. I have no love for Tyrion but even he did that. How you can sit here and apologize is beyond me.”

“He was my son!” Something cracks in Cersei at that and Sansa is brought back to the moment before she escaped King’s Landing. Seeing the fear and incoherent rage flashing across Cersei’s face as her son died in her arms. 

Cersei looks, shockingly, like she might cry. But she pulls herself together, “He was my son, it is no excuse but people were trying to come at him from every angle. I had little time to spare for the girl of the family at war with ours and how he may have treated you. It was selfish. I see that and I apologize for what I did to you. But I won’t apologize for protecting my children, the little good it did, all three of them ended up dead.”

Sansa looks at Cersei and thinks she sees her, who she is now, and she understands. Cersei is trying to correct what she did wrong the first time. She wants to protect Joanna and Ciseron in the way she failed Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. She may never forgive this woman fully but she would be lying if she said she didn’t understand her. If someone threatened Cat….she couldn’t fathom what she would do, she hoped she never found out. 

“That wasn’t your fault Cersei, you did what you could for them,” the words are out before Sansa can realize she’s comforting Cersei Lannister of all people.

“And being a hostage in a war of politics wasn’t your fault but it still happened and we must all live with that now,” Cersei says and finishes the glass of wine. 

“Joffrey was, not right. I know that. Tommen and Myrcella though? They were sweet children. And not a day goes by that I don’t think about how I failed them,” Cersei continues, almost lost in thought.

“The little I had to do with Tommen, he was always sweet to me. Myrcella though, I thought we could be friends once. I suppose we were friends for awhile when she came to Winterfell. And we tried in King’s Landing but she knew Joffrey hated me and it made things difficult. We were too young to fight powers like that. I wished we could’ve been friends though. I cried, when I heard what happened to her in Dorne,” Sansa says and she finds herself reaching across the table for Cersei’s hand.

Cersei startles and looks up, her eyes slightly wet, “Thank you, I wish you could’ve been friends as well. Myrcella deserved a friend, someone to protect her in Dorne. Look now, I called you here to apologize and you’re the one comforting me. You were always the better of us, maybe that’s why I hated you so much.”

They both laugh and then for a moment it looks as if Cersei is going to say something more. It passes and Sansa can tell that what comes out of her mouth next is not whatever that mysterious thought was. 

“I should be going now,” Cersei rises but then pauses, “Tell me first, have you heard anything of Tyrion in the years I’ve been gone.”

Sansa sighs, “From what I gather he is as loyal to Daenerys as ever. It truly shocked me that he was the one to help you two escape and has fed you information since then. It could bode well for our side if he turns on her but Tyrion has always served himself. I’m more hopeful that Varys may come to us, it would be a huge win.”

Cersei nods, “She’s dangerous, you don’t need me to tell you that. I heard you took out Littlefinger you know. He was perhaps the most dangerous of us all in King’s Landing once upon a time. Yet you bested him. And you survived Ramsay, more beast than man from what I learned. You’ll survive her,” Cersei pauses and her eyes flash, “You survived me.”

“She’s worse than you,” Sansa surprises herself again with the words that seem to spew from her mouth.

Cersei looks genuinely shocked and says nothing.

“When I heard you blew up the sept,” Sansa starts, “I was shocked, but I understood what you were doing. You were backed into a corner and it was a power play. You flipped the board when you ran out of moves. Innocent lives were lost but it was about control not about inflicting death. You never relished in killing or torturing innocents. Those who wronged you sure, but not the innocent. Not unnecessarily. Ellaria killed your daughter and I imagine she enjoyed the thought of your pain but Myrcella suffered for it, she was innocent and it’s not fair. But Daenerys doesn’t see them, she sees only herself and her dragons, her throne. She sees anyone else as a casualty for her claim. She loves their pain because for her that is power. You told me once that power is power, simply having it is enough, but for Daenerys exerting it is a must.”

Cersei considers her, “You hate her, you really do hate her. I made the right call coming here.”

“Was I that obvious at the trial, really,” Sansa jokes lightly now, the tension ebbing out of the room.

“Oh not to the average person, but I knew you well enough. I didn’t understand it fully at the time but now, with you and Jon. It all fell into place at some point,” Cersei says simply.

“She hates that, me and Jon. I don’t know if she hates anyone more than me, for taking him from her. She got her throne and her dragons but not her dynasty. I took the last person with enough Targaryen blood to matter to her.”

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised you stand here alive and married to him and that she didn’t burn you both. You’ll have to tell me how that all happened one day. But from what I see, you didn’t steal anyone from her. He was never hers, he was always yours. As Jaime has always been mine. Maybe I did teach you something.”

Sansa actually smiles, she doesn’t understand it. The range of emotions she has experienced through this conversation are enough to do her head in, but there’s a part of her that relates desperately to Cersei and talking to her feels cathartic.

“I really have to go now, but thank you, Lady Stark,” Cersei says, a courtesy for once, “Thank you for listening to what I have to say. And thank you for letting us come here in the first place. We will take her down, the two of us together? She won’t know what’s coming.”

Sansa lets Cersei lead them both out of the room and she knows that things aren’t fixed. They aren’t perfect, but she doesn’t feel trapped by the past she shares with Cersei any longer. She knows that going forward she can let it rest in the past, where it belongs and it won’t trouble her late at night ever again. 

~~~

When Sansa made it back to her chambers hours later she felt as if she might cry from exhaustion and anxiety. Her day had passed in a flash since she had left Cersei’s chambers and she thought she would have more time. More time for Jon, and more time with Cat. But she hadn’t been able to see either of them alone the rest of the day. Sure Jon had been milling about on the sidelines of her and Brienne’s plans and helping them prepare for the long road ahead but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in private. She craved him, not even physically just his sheer presence was enough to comfort her. 

She had to leave with Brienne within the hour but Brienne had finally sent her off to see Jon, with a promise she would take care of their final preparations and would meet her in the courtyard when she was ready. 

So when she opened the doors to see Jon dozing with Cat on his chest she felt her own chest expand with so much love that she let out a strangled sob and somehow Jon was awake in an instant.

“Sansa,” He said groggily while shifting Cat, still sleeping, off of him, “What’s the matter, come here, my love.”

Sansa moved across the room barely aware of her actions and Jon was off the bed enveloping her in his arms before she realized it.

His embrace calmed her but between sobs she stutters out, “Jon, I’m pregnant, Jon. I’m sorry.”

It’s irrational, this apology. Just nights ago they had talked about having more children, voices to fill the halls of Winterfell. But she didn’t think either of them thought about it being so soon. They couldn’t have known that during that lighthearted night a life had already been growing inside her. Not to mention that it’s not even her fault. They were both responsible on that front. 

“Pregnant? Sansa are you sure?” Jon pulls back and searches her tear stained face. 

She bites her lip and nods. The tears, annoyingly, are still coming. It seems that now that she doesn’t have to be the stoic and strong Northern Wolf that all the stress of the past weeks is coming out in one fell swoop.

Jon holds her gaze and in it she sees the love and adoration she knows he has for her. She sees their past and maybe a glimpse of their future, old and grey surrounded by grandchildren. If they should be so lucky. 

He suddenly drops to his knees. He is hugging Sansa’s legs and he plants a kiss and caress on her stomach, still flat, still fragile.

He smiles up at her, “A kiss of strength, for our new son or daughter.”

He rises and embraces Sansa again. Smoothing her hair and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. It soothes her quickly.

When her breathing slows she allows Jon to move them over to the bed and they sit side by side. Hands clasped.

“Now tell me why you were so distraught,” Jon says and he listens.

He listens as all Sansa’s doubts, worries, and fear spill out. Her changing relationship to Cersei, her fears for Bran and Arya, the danger Daenerys poses to them, her anxieties over meeting with Arianne and finally her aching fear for Cat and this new child. He remains silent until she exhausts herself with talking and looks to him for a response.

“Sansa,” He starts slowly and looks at her intently, “Don’t take this the wrong way, because there is nobody I know more capable than you. But if anything is too much, we all understand. You can’t be everything all at once, all the time. If you would rather I go to Dorne, I will do that for you. Not because I think you can’t but because I see how much strain you’re under and if there is anything I can do to help with that I will.”

Sansa sighed, “You’re a good man Jon, the best I know. And clearly you’ve learned from last week when you tried to keep me here in Winterfell. But really, just having you, knowing that I can come to you and confide in you. That is the best gift you can give me and how you help me most.”

Jon lets a small smile overcome his face and she sees a look on his face that she recognizes from when he thinks she’s not watching him. It is a sweet look that she gets to see so rarely that she can’t help but treasure it. 

“When you first came to the wall, I thought I was dreaming, Sansa. I thought you were Ygritte, returned from the dead, when I only saw your hair but when you turned I knew. She never would have been so poised, even dirty and beaten down you glowed. And I had a reason. I didn’t realize right away but I knew that this was my purpose to come back from the dead and to fight for you, to fight for your honour. I… I would die if it came to that and you know this but you’ve given me so much Sansa. You’ve given me a reason to fight, a reason to be. For you, for Cat, for the little one yet to come. I want nothing more than to keep us all here safe, but it never seems to be that easy for us, so I will do what I can here and I will keep fighting and I’ll meet you in Riverrun where we will keep fighting together, a white and red wolf. Side by side,” Sansa is in Jon’s arms again and they’re just breathing, together. Peacefully.

While his words are nothing new, the way he says it is different than he has before. And Jon, sometimes he is a man of few words. Sometimes he closes himself off, but with Sansa he blooms. She knows he would scowl if she compared him to a flower but she feels that with others Jon is a flower that is closed up, protecting itself. But with her, and with Bran and Arya, they see his petals come out and the beauty he has within, the love.

“You think I saved you but I never thought about what I would do if I got to the wall and you weren’t there. It would have killed me I think, after so much pain and disappointment. I put all my hope on you, and you came through. You always come through,” She tangles her hands into his hair and kisses him, with passion, but with little heat, they don’t have the time.

He breaks them apart and smiles at her, “I guess the gods were looking out for us for once then. They didn’t let me leave Castle Black until you came. They knew.”

They lay down then, just for a few minutes and without saying each other they just look at each other. Hear each other breathe.

She studies him. His hair is longer, he wears it tied back in a bun usually. A style she adores on him. He looks stronger and sturdier than he did when she first came to the wall. But that weariness is returning to his eyes that comes out when they have to fight a war. She sees the faded scars across his face that mark his battles, his losses and his victories. She thinks about the scars she can’t see. The ones that stopped his heart and killed him. The ones she traces with anger and regret sometimes when they lay in bed together. Anger for his pain and the betrayal he endured, regret that she hadn’t found him sooner.

She wonders what he sees when he is looking at her. This woman she has become. He can’t see her own scars but he knows they lurk under her clothes. He worships those scars. When they are in bed together her body is an altar and the scars of the men who misused her are where Jon prays, paying tribute to her pain. It burns her to think about how he can make her love these parts of herself she cringed at for so long. As for her face, she knows that it will still be red and splotchy from the tears, curse her Tully complexion for that. She wonders if he sees her mussed hair and tear stained face and thinks it weakness. She stops then, she knows Jon too well for that. He knows her strength and her tears are only evidence of that. She is the Lady of Winterfell, a she wolf, and his wife. 

They lock eyes as they finish roaming each other's features and pale grey eyes meet brilliant blue. 

“Your eyes are so beautiful when you cry. They’re always beautiful but I think the Gods must be cruel to make such beauty out of your pain,” Jon says and brushes a lingering tear from Sansa’s cheek.

“Maybe it serves as a reminder that light, light exists even when we are lost in the dark. You were my light Jon, you led us out of the dark,” Sansa muses and traces a scar on Jon’s cheek absentmindedly.

He pulls her tight then and says, “You’re wrong my dear, you are my light. I love you Sansa, with all my heart. Now and always.”

Just then Cat fusses in her sleep and Sansa sits up. Reaching around to the other side of the bed she takes her daughter and cradles her. She is half asleep and half awake but she sits back in bed and starts to rock her. She is getting too old for such antics but Sansa indulges her, not knowing when she will see her daughter again. 

“I’m only a few weeks along. The Maester says I could still lose the baby, especially with the stress and strain. With the travel,” Sansa says, serious again.

Jon stiffens, “If you lose the baby it will not be your fault. You have to protect the family you have now. All you can do is look after yourself the best you can. The Maester has prepared medicines and herbs for your travels?”

Sansa sighs contentedly, she’s lucky to have Jon’s support in such matters, “Yes, they packed a separate bag and debriefed Brienne and I on what to look out for.”

“Then you will take care of yourself and I will be here, praying to the old gods and new that my wife is returned healthy with our baby growing peacefully inside her,” He kisses Sansa’s cheek and rests his hand on Cat’s head. 

“I really have to go,” Sansa says with regret, “Brienne will be waiting.”

“Time makes a fool of us all,” Jon says with a certain wistfulness.

“Take care of Cat for me. And I’ll see you in Riverrun soon enough,” She is trying desperately to be strong now. 

Sansa kisses her daughter on the forehead. She is sleeping again and she could wake her but Cat will hardly understand goodbye at this age. Better for her to not be upset and sleep through the night. She will see her daughter in a few moons with any luck and she won’t remember this brief separation in years to come. It will be Sansa who bears that particular burden. She has never been separated from her daughter more than a night or two to visit nearby lords. Leaving her with Jon and eventually with Gilly when Jon and the others leave the castle, will be a constant battle all of its own. But she must do it, she must have the strength. 

“She will be here, in the best of hands when we both return. Gilly will protect her with her life you know that,” Jon soothes her, “And the fighting will never get this far north, Daenerys won’t even make it to the Reach. She is safe.”

“I know, I’ll miss her though. Fiercely. A wolf cub should not be without her mother for long,” Sansa places Cat into Jon’s arms now and feels her heart fracture a bit. She will leave a bit of her heart here with Cat and with Jon. To keep them safe. 

Her and Jon kiss once more, with all the fierceness of their first kiss so many years ago.

She gets off of the bed and strides to the door. They had already agreed that her and Brienne would exit alone without a sendoff so Jon remains with their daughter. 

She looks back at them. A picture of peace and serenity and it takes all her strength to not run back to them and forego her plans. 

“I love you both,” She says steadily instead. 

“And us you, I wish you all the luck. We will all be together again soon, I promise” Jon says and Sansa thinks she sees the faintest hint of tears.

With that she exits the room and braces herself for the weeks ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the "power is power" isn't something Cersei said to Sansa but I imagine it could have been an idea that came up in their "lessons" and something that Sansa would've held onto if she had heard it the first time around. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted as I've finally caught up to the pre-written parts but I do still have my outline and I know where I'm headed. I hope you will all enjoy the journey :)
> 
> (also kudos to anyone who caught both the "You love her, you really do love her" parallel and an echo of Robb Stark at the end there ;) )
> 
> also update on updates lol. so I've run out of pre-written chapters I thought I could find enough time to write with school and such and I did but not enough to keep a bulk of chapters. I am nearly done with the next chapter and I do have the rest of this fic outlined but updates might be irregular until I finish school in about six weeks when I'll have more time for writing. I hope you stick with me though :)


	9. this whole damn city think it needs you, but not as much as I do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am posting on time! I hope you enjoy this. There isn't exciting action but some conversations I really enjoyed writing. After this back to the Dragon Queen!

Arya knew they must be getting close to Storm’s End. It’s been somewhat hard to keep track of where they are since they were avoiding main roads but still trying to move quickly. Luckily for them they were both accustomed to travelling off the beaten path and weren’t too worried about it. They’d had to veer quite off course to stay away from King’s Landing and avoid anyone from the city spotting them. 

Not that either Arya or Gendry were overly worried about being recognized. Gendry was relatively unknown outside of the North. A brief stint as the Lord of Storm’s End gave people in the know a reason to recognize his name but not his face. The biggest risk would be if someone saw him as the spitting image of Robert Baratheon that he clearly was. Still, unlinkely. And Arya was even less concerned. Perhaps the least considered of her siblings, save Rickon, in terms of who Westeros thought of when the Starks came up.

Jon and Sansa were well known throughout the realm and it made Arya fear for her sister’s journey, being that recognizable was a curse in situations such as these. Robb had become a myth, a legend, and was still spoken of with reverence. Bran’s peculiarities, and being the son who gave up his place in favor of his sister and bastard brother turned cousin had him on people’s radar. Hell, some people even recalled Rickon as the sacrificial wolf for Ramsay’s sick games before Sansa and Jon had reclaimed the North. 

But Arya? She was no one. She was a scrappy girl, turned she wolf, turned wild woman of the North who was a mere footnote to most people. Oh sure, she had delivered the killing blow to the Night King and people whispered about a small she wolf when they talked in hushed whispers about the Freys. But that made her more like smoke. She wasn’t able to be pinned down and was glad for it. If anyone looked too long she would slip through their fingers. More dangerous than Jon and Sansa, more peculiar than Bran, more mythologized than Robb and Rickon, but less known for it. 

Despite these errant thoughts it was still not a good idea to risk being spotted. Not to mention that if they were spotted and lived to tell about it Sansa would skin her alive after all her warnings about being careful and not taking unnecessary risks.

It made the journey more tedious than she liked though. They had spent most nights in run down inns or pitching a tent in the woods, taking turns on watch to avoid being overtaken by thieves or wild animals. It was a far cry from the leisurely and enjoyable journey they had had the last time they had come to visit Edric, on official and public business that they weren’t attempting to be secretive about. 

It was another thing that was difficult for Arya. The subterfuge. She hadn’t aired her opinions, knowing it would be futile but she honestly felt like it would be easier to just have the realm declare open war on Daenerys. Half the realm was waiting for Jon and Sansa to do it anyways so it would hardly come as a surprise. However, she appreciated that they wanted to be as careful as possible and to have as much chance of winning as possible. Daenerys still had her dragons after all. Gods those dragons, how Arya hated them. What she wouldn’t give to have the chance to take one of them out, give the bitch Daenerys a taste of real fear without her flaming lizards. 

While Arya’s mind wandered she started to take in the surroundings. Her and Gendry both were riding horses. They had had to give up the ones they took from Winterfell at one point when they had to veer so off road that the horses couldn’t follow but they had been quick to procure new ones to ensure swift travels when they returned to more manageable paths. In the far off distance Arya could see the foothills of the mountains that protected Dorne. They were magnificent even from such a distance and Arya hoped she could visit them one day. But they reminded her once again of Sansa, of where she might be now, she would likely be reaching Dorne in the next few days and hopefully Sunspear not long after. 

To the far East Arya knew that the Narrow Sea was lurking. Between the Sea and the Mountains on an outcropping of rocks is where Storm’s End was waiting for them. She knew they would make it in a few more hours at most. And she was starting to get restless.

She wondered if she should try and broach a conversation with Gendry. The silence that had settled over them was companionable and natural when you spend so much time with someone over a period of a couple of weeks. Their trip thus far had been void of heavy topics. They had, for all intents and purposes acted like a couple, young and in love. Their days had been light and airy with jokes and banter flowing easily. At night they would play the married couple to the Inns they stopped at and when they could, they fucked. Maybe that was crass but it was true Arya thought. They weren’t ‘making love’ as Sansa may have described it, but fucking to fulfill a desire, and maybe to avoid talking about something deeper.

Before she could consider that further her thoughts were interrupted. 

“The sound of your thinking is louder than the great hall at meal times Arya, what is going on over there?” Gendry teases her from his own saddle. 

As always she’s a little surprised by how well Gendry had come to know her. But she shouldn’t be. All these years spent together without ever getting a word of commitment from her. It startled her, the realization that he expected nothing but gave her everything. He was too good for her, it wasn’t the first time she thought it but it was what made her say the most idiotic thing next.

“When all of this is over I don’t think you shouldn’t come back to Winterfell,” Stupid Arya! Even as the words spilled from her she wished she could push them back into her mouth.

“What?” Gendry sputters and almost pulls his horse to a stop. He looks completely taken aback and offended, as if he didn’t hear her correctly.

And because Arya could never seem to pull herself out of a situation spiralling away from her she continued, “I just mean that you have better opportunities, for blacksmithing I mean, there are other castles where you can learn more and have better accommodations than at Winterfell.”

Her face must look like some horrible contortion because she’s in pain the whole time she is saying it and she can feel her face flaming red. 

Gendry just stares at her as their horses continue on oblivious, “Unbelievable,” He shakes his head and turns away from her. 

“And what about you Arya? Where are you going after ‘all of this is over’” He demands in a voice that sounds haughty and disbelieving. 

Arya hadn’t told him about her and Sansa’s talk, about her agreement to be the Lady of Winterfell. It hadn’t come up and he hadn’t pushed her since the night in the clearing when she had been ranting and raving about the suggestion. 

“I agreed to look after Winterfell,” Arya says, barely above a whisper and Gendry’s head turns to her, confused.

“What?” He asks, clearly having not heard her voice barely audible with the wind picking up around them. 

“I,” She starts clearly but pauses, “will be the Lady of Winterfell,” it comes out more of a question but it’s obvious he heard her this time. 

The silence that envelops them is absolute. Despite the wind spiralling and the horses continuing at a trot it’s like everything has come to a standstill. She can read his body language and he is as rigid as a board and she can’t even tell if he’s taken in a breath. He’s tensing like he is about to go into battle. And when he turns to her she doesn’t doubt that he feels that he is.

Their eyes meet and Arya’s heart shatters in that moment. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen that hurt in his eyes before. Anger, fear, sadness, happiness, excitement, passion, lust, love yes all of those emotions but never the hurt she sees there now. 

When his voice comes out it’s venomous, not broken as he looks, “Oh, so this is your first command then. You are ordering me away now, you don’t want me working in your castle. I understand”

“Gendry, I—” Arya squeaks out.

“No, really it’s fine I get it. It would be a bit awkward once you need to marry and produce an heir if you had the bastard you slept with hanging around. Don’t worry I’ll make myself scarce when all of this is done,” He says with finality and pulls on the reins of his horse, turning away from her. He speeds up just enough so that they aren’t riding side by side. 

Seven hells, Arya thinks to herself. She feels hot tears stinging her eyes. She really fucks everything up. She doesn’t even know what compelled her to start the fight in the first place but with all of the danger everyone’s in she can’t help but feel like they’re coming to a precipice she isn’t ready for. A confession of feelings that go deeper than what she is willing to admit to just yet. And it’s not fair to her or to Gendry because when she really thinks about it she knows she loves him, she just can’t say it out loud. 

She’d even been thinking, before Cersei’s letter had come and turned their lives upside down again, that her and Gendry were inevitable that their futures were woven together. And here she was now, cursing down the man she loved because she was scared. And now he thought she resented him, that she thought him less because he was a bastard. 

Gods he might even think that now that she was going to be Lady of Winterfell that she was too good for him. It couldn’t be further from the truth and yet it was exactly what she had implied not minutes ago. God she was an ass. She had to fix this.

But once again she was interrupted, they had come over a hill and on the other side, plain as day, was Storm’s End. Perfect just what they needed right now, Edric Storm and politics. She guessed feelings would have to wait. 

Gendry didn’t pause, didn’t look at her but she heard him release a breath and she guessed that he was happy to have the excuse to not be with her privately just at the moment. So together, yet apart, they approached the castle on the cliffside.

~~~

As they had travelled through the Riverlands into the Westerlands, Cersei couldn’t help but think of the last time she had been to the Rock. It had been years now, and in truth it had taken her a time to even nail down the specific visit. But now she remembered.

Tommen had been young, no more than two or three years. She had badgered Robert for months about a trip to the Rock now that they had Tommen. She had gone when Joff was young and when Myrcella had been a few years as well, she thought it was important for her children to see the place where she grew up (where her and Jaime had grown up if she was being honest) and it was one of the few things she still held dear to her all these years later. 

There hadn’t been any subsequent trips as the children grew up and once Robert was dead there was never an opportunity, more pressing matters had occupied them. And then her children had died, just as the witch had promised her all those years ago, at the very place she was journeying back to now. Maybe that was divine justice. If Cersei believed in the Gods she wouldn’t put it past them to doom her to that cruelty, having to return to the place that started all of her pain.

Still. She loved the Rock. It held a wistfulness she hadn’t found anywhere else. They had been happy in Essos, she would’ve been content to remain there with Joanna, Ciseron, and Jaime for the rest of their days. But the thought of having the rock back, for them, for their children. It was a dream she could barely let herself contemplate. So much had to happen first. 

That last long ago trip had been a cruelty in and of itself at the time. Robert had refused to come, citing that he had come when they had made the journey for Joffrey and Myrcella. Cersei hadn’t been perturbed but it had been a slight all the same and the court had been run amok with gossip in the weeks leading up to the trip. 

It had all gotten worse when Robert suddenly insisted that he wouldn’t allow Joffrey to go with her. In a rare show of fatherly instinct he had insisted that it would provide crucial bonding time for him and his heir. At the time, it had disgusted Cersei. She knew that he had only done it to provoke her further and cause tension. He cared nothing for Joffrey, for none of their children truly. But she had resolved to be content with Myrcella and Tommen.

In the days leading up to that trip things had become even more strange when Robert further demanded that Jaime accompany Cersei to the Rock. She had been baffled. While he had no outright hatred against Jaime, the idea of the King sending a member of his Kingsguard to attend his Queen was unheard of, at least under Robert’s rule. She had no doubt that some of the kinder Targaryen Kings had used their Kingsguard to protect their Queens, it had likely been quite an honour. But Robert had never done any such thing. 

Cersei had had no idea how to react to the demand. She was secretly delighted. Casterly Rock would provide countless hours for her and Jaime to sneak away undisturbed. They would be alone with two of their children for a prolonged period of time. It really was a dream. But she had to act at least somewhat put off outwardly, Robert was behaving so strangely. 

And the trip… It had been a dream. A perfectly cruel dream. Her and Jaime had lived in a fever of their childhood and adolescence reborn. Every day was full of delights, they frolicked in the gardens like giddy children, they showed their children the pathways they had navigated stealthily in their you, the kitchens made the foods they had devoured endlessly growing up, delighted to have the Rock’s children back. They spent languid afternoons wrapped up in each other, rediscovering old hideaways and christening new ones. But it was over before it had begun. They were there nearly a month but it had been over so quickly it felt as if it were an absentminded daydream and not something they could truly grasp. It slipped from them carelessly and they were suddenly back in King’s Landing. Robert was surlier than ever, it seemed as if Joffrey had become more heartless overnight and Cersei felt him slipping further from her. And her and Jaime had fought endlessly.

They were both suffering from the end of the reprieve Casterly Rock had provided and it was one of the hardest times of Cersei’s life in King’s Landing before the wars began. It seemed petty now, after everything else, but she had been so miserable in the months following their trip that she had wished for nothing else than to take her children and Jaime and run away, a foolish whim she hadn’t entertained since the early days of her marriage. 

So returning there now was bittersweet. Laced with the memories of their last trip, she couldn’t help but mourn all they had lost. But she tried to stop herself. She couldn’t let herself wallow in the regrets of the woman she had been. She had to focus on the woman she was now. Everything they were working towards, it was for a future for Joanna and Ciseron and that was all that mattered. They were rectifying the mistakes they (or she) had made the first time. 

Currently, Cersei was sitting up. The journey had been quite strange. The men that Sansa had sent them with were kind enough. They said little to her or Jaime and just did the task they had been assigned. They were clearly loyal men who had been given instructions they intended to follow to the nose. The four men were on horses that pulled a cart. The cart in which Jaime and Cersei spent their trip camped out on. The supplies caged them in and from the outside you couldn’t see there were people sitting there unless you were directly in front or behind of the cart. The men had devised a code word for if people were coming on the road and Jaime and Cersei knew to lay down, to fully conceal themselves when that was the case. But when it wasn’t Cersei preferred to sit. She often sat with her legs tucked up underneath her and her face on her chin, just watching the passing landscape, especially as they got closer to the hills of her youth and she recognized more and more. 

Jaime though, he spent half his days sleeping. She knew he slept little at night. Even though the men had a guard watch worked out among them there was something in his lion’s blood that couldn’t fully trust the men of a wolf. She had insisted that he needn’t force himself awake for most of the night but he wouldn’t hear it. He had merely shrugged and said that he didn’t need energy to ride a horse so he might as well do all he can to look out for her.

The sentiment had secretly delighted her, even all these years later. They had proved the love they had for each other so many times and yet she couldn’t help but smile when he said something so simple and ordinary. It made her feel like any other woman who had a husband who loved her. 

Just at that moment the sun broke out from behind a cloud and passed over Jaime’s face. His eyes crinkled and he swatted above him. He was so handsome, she thought. The best looking of the Lannisters even though he would disagree (she knew he thought her the most beautiful woman in the realm, even at her age). 

“What time is it?” He says groggily still in the throws of sleep while trying to sit up.

“It must be nearly evening. There hasn’t been anyone on the road for an hour now, so everyone is pulling in for the night and the sun, which just woke you up, is starting to go down,” Cersei replies and scoots over to lean against Jaime.

“We’re almost to the Rock, only another day or two at most. I heard them talking about it earlier. And I’m really recognizing the landscape now,” She continues when Jaime just sits in silence and closes his eyes, still sleepy. 

“You must be excited,” Jaime muses, eyes still closed.

“Terrified more like,” She admits with a laugh, “But yes, aren’t you? You love the Rock as much as I do, I'm sure.”

“You have nothing to be scared of, the Lannisters have always despised Tyrion. The two of us together can help restore our house. It’s what they will want. And yes of course I love the Rock, but maybe it won’t hold up to all my fond memories,” Jaime answers thoughtfully.

“It just frustrates me that Sansa wasn’t even sure on who is ruling, that it seems they’re just allowing Tyrion to dictate from King’s Landing. It makes everything uncertain. And don’t worry,” She says and presses a kiss to his lips, “If it doesn’t hold up I’m sure I can find time to remind you why we loved it so much.”

Smirking, Cersei pulls away from him and he finally opens his eyes. Before she can react he launches himself across the narrow space they have in the cart and they both are knocked down. They’re laying in the narrow space together and Jaime holds her close to him. 

They’re both looking up at the blue sky above them and he whispers in Cersei’s ear, “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll need reminding after all. It’s suddenly all coming back to me.”

She turns her face towards him and he’s smirking. She glances towards the horses, knowing the men can’t see them, she kisses him fiercely but pulls away sooner than she would like. Now is not the time. 

“Soon,” She smiles and places her head on his chest. 

They lay like that for a while. In peace and quiet and Cersei is wondering if Jaime dozed off again when he speaks up. 

“Can I ask you something,” He sounds tentative.

“You just did,” She rolls her eyes at him. She can hardly believe they’re twins sometimes. 

“Cersei, I’m serious,” He turns her towards him and they’re only a few inches apart. 

“Go on then,” She says trying to remain light. 

He sits them up so they can converse easier, “When we were leaving Winterfell, after you left the chambers with Sansa. You looked shaken up. I didn’t ask you at the time, we were saying goodbye to Ciseron and Joanna and you seemed fine later on. But the look on your face, it reminded me of before. Of when we lost Joffrey, or when I brought Myrcella back. When Tommen… ”

He holds her gaze for a long time and Cersei considers him in silence. She’s surprised honestly. She knew he would be able to read her expression when she had left Sansa’s chambers and expected his questions then. But so long after the fact she figured he had written it off.

Finally she sighs, “I was very close to telling her about the prophecy. About what drove me to the lengths I did. I thought. I thought maybe it would help her understand. She was talking about Myrcella. How she wished they had a chance to be friends and it just made me… so remorseful. For all of it. For the situation she was put in that I allowed and helped to create. For what happened to our children. It sometimes feels like another life and I don’t know how to reconcile who the woman who did those things with the woman I am now. It’s all me. And it just shook me up. I wasn’t expecting to feel all of that. It’s been hard, being here again”

Jaime never breaks his gaze while she tells him this and she loves him for it. She’s always hated showing her weaknesses and has long reserved them only for Jaime. But he sees them and loves her for it. 

“That’s what you wanted coming here though right? You wanted resolution. Sansa Stark is one of the only people left who you can owe anything to, who would benefit in a meaningful way from your remorse. And she does,” Cersei scoffs but Jaime continues, “She does. She wouldn’t have agreed to all of this if she didn’t. You’re a better person than you were for this Cersei and I’m proud of you.”

He’s holding her hands now and looking at her so intently she feels a few tears pricking behind her eyes. 

“Even though I didn’t tell her about the prophecy?” Cersei says quietly.

“Even if you never tell her,” Jaime says confidently, “If you did, I think that would be incredible, for you and for her. It would be a relief for you to talk about it with someone else I think, and for her. Sansa is not cold. She loves fiercely and if she knew more about you she would understand more the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

Jaime’s words hollow something out inside of Cersei and suddenly she hopes they all survive this. She hopes so wildly if for no other reason than so she can talk to Sansa Stark and tell her about the witch in the woods. Not as an excuse, but as an explanation. 

Jaime embraces her then, and after a few minutes of silence he pulls back.

“See, I’m not all bad ideas and recklessness,” He says with that smirk she knows so well.  
She’s perplexed for a moment and then she realizes what he is referring to.

“No. Absolutely not. Just because you are right about this does not mean I will approve of you going off fighting again Jaime. Absolutely not,” Cersei is serious now. 

They had been fighting on and off about this for weeks now. Jaime insisted that he needed to fight when they went off to war with Daenerys. Cersei simply saw things differently.

“You convinced the Starks that Jon might need to steal a dragon, but me going off on a horse is too much? How do you think Sansa will react to that sweet sister?” Jaime says provokingly.

“Drop it Jaime,” Cersei says with no humour but he grins at her, “I won’t have you put yourself in unnecessary danger! I can’t lose you!”

It’s a sign of the strength of their relationship that Jaime knows he needs to drop it and quick. Something in Cersei’s voice broke on that last command and he’s pulling her to him before she realizes. 

“You won’t lose me, not now. I promise,” He soothes her then. 

Cersei doesn’t respond but instead pulls herself closer. They sit there wrapped up in each other and the cart trundles on closer to the home of their childhood, to the place that is their hope and survival now. So, for the moment she revels in the closeness of Jaime and lets herself love him for his strength and steadiness in this time of upheaval and uncertainty. 

~~~

Reaching Sunspear went far more smoothly than Sansa had ever allowed herself to imagine. Her and Brienne are somewhat conspicuous travellers. Sansa’s red hair is known well throughout the realm and her lady knight is spoken of highly among all soldiers. Despite this they had gone without incident. Sansa had coloured her hair similarly to how she had when she had been Alayne Stone and kept herself wrapped in cloaks that had hoods. While Brienne had simply foregone her usual armour and gone for more easily hidden weapons. It was not the best of disguises but combined with staying off well travelled roads they had managed okay.

When they had reached the borders of Dorne, Sansa had washed out her hair but still kept it covered and they had travelled more swiftly. They were less worried about being recognized in this far tip of the Kingdoms and hopeful that with Arianne’s assistance it might not matter as much if they were recognized. 

They had travelled as quickly as they could and even though Sansa was unused to such extensive riding she had had little complaint. She was the Lady of Winterfell, a daughter of the north and a fierce she-wolf. It would take more than some physical discomfort to make her grit her teeth. After all she had endured it seemed laughable. 

Despite this, she couldn’t shake off the fears that plagued her with her pregnancy. She was still so early on, not even two full months and while she knew that the baby was fine she couldn’t help worrying that something had happened. She wasn’t showing at all, with what was going on this was a blessing, less to worry about. But it would be nice to have the assurance that the babe was growing. Brienne had been overly courteous, ensuring Sansa had the largest portions at all their meals and not allowing her to over exert herself. Even insisting on two days of rest on their long journey. Extending their travel time for the sake of Sansa’s unborn baby. 

She had protested but Brienne hadn’t waivered. A part of Sansa loved her for this. She had come to be one of her closest friends and confidants and she was no longer scared of voicing her opinions of dissent around her, not scared to stand up against Sansa if she knew she was right. After so many years alone and surrounded by enemies, it meant the world for Sansa to have these people around her who trusted and loved her. 

And while Sansa’s pregnancy symptoms hadn’t been unbearable there had been mornings of morning sickness and afternoons of fatigue that Brienne had helped her through. When she was pregnant with Cat the entire castle seemed to be catering to her every whim, ensuring the Lady of Winterfell had the utmost comfort. She remembered Jon sending out a troop of men to retrieve lemons from all the way in Dorne, at the end of Winter, so the kitchens could make Sansa’s favourite lemon cakes. 

Those days were long gone and this pregnancy could not be more different. She could never have imagined embarking on such a potentially perilous journey while having her child grow inside of her. It seemed ridiculous. Yet completely necessary. 

As they rode on Sunspear became more and more clear. They could see it on the horizon now coming closer. Sansa estimated that they weren’t more than an hour away and she was thankful. She was ready for a few days rest even with impending negotiations and plans for battle looming over her. This she could handle. She was born and bred for political machinations and she had liked Arianne, sensed a kinship with the woman. The break would rejuvenate her and prepare her to turn around and head all the way back to Riverrun. She comforted herself knowing that the journey there was not as far as they had come from Winterfell. 

It had been silent for the last thirty minutes or so, not uncomfortably, when Brienne spoke up.

“Are you feeling ready Sansa? Do we have a plan for arriving?”

“I think we simply request to speak to Arianne. No need to reveal our identities until we are with her. She will know instantly who I am, but best to keep it from her guards until necessary. I think Arianne will have the discretion to not scream my name the second she sees me and hopefully we can secure a private audience,” that should be the easy part Sansa hopes. What comes after may be more difficult. 

As they approach the city they pass more and more people, more than they’ve seen in the last weeks of their journey altogether. Despite their obvious lack of Dornish heritage nobody seems overly concerned with them, completely wrapped up in their own daily activities. A few people glance their way but look away quickly once Brienne glares at them. 

“I’m glad you allowed me to come with you,” Brienne starts again, “The thought of you down here alone or with other guards is so worrisome. I know you trust Arianne, but it would be unwise to walk into a pit of vipers alone.”

Sansa half smiles, “Unfortunately, I think if Arianne decides to turn on us there is little the two of us will be able to do to stop her. Which is why I have to ensure that doesn’t happen. But yes, I’m glad you’re with me too. It would be awfully lonely so far away from home without anyone to confide in.”

Brienne smiles to herself and Sansa knows that despite the equalling of their friendship she still considers it an honour to serve the House of Stark. Living up to her mother’s memory all these years past.

“You miss them though. Jon, your siblings, Cat. I can tell. You won’t speak of it but you worry for them, late at night when you think I’ve fallen asleep,” Brienne says, not sadly but as if she is stating a fact. 

The honesty gives Sansa pause, slightly taken aback. But she can’t deny the statement, “Brienne, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything my Lady,” deferring to formality suddenly, “I shouldn’t have said anything at all. But I want you to know I will protect you here. You will see them again. And Cat is in the best of hands. Focus on the task ahead of you. All will be well.”

Sansa doesn’t know what to say to that so she nods at Brienne and rides on. There are few she trusts so implicitly as this woman. Her pack, Jon, Arya and Bran. Brienne of course. She has come to trust Gendry on behalf of Arya and come to trust Tormund on behalf of Jon. Davos, who has returned to his family on Seawatch for an extended visit. He knows nothing of what has happened. Sansa thinks suddenly of the oversight they have had by not having him return to Winterfell immediately. The danger that could come to him. But she remembers suddenly that he is on his way back anyways. Said he would bring his family with him. Jon will fill him in. She exhales. Yes, Davos is another who she trusts completely. 

But she thinks beyond these people she keeps close that maybe the only other person she can depend on fully is Theon. Miles apart from her she knows what they shared burns as brightly as ever. A brother to her until their dying breaths. And she wonders where he is now. What he thought upon reading her letter. How he would’ve turned to Yara, his sister, and said, “My sister, my other sister. She is in trouble and we must help her. Ready the ships we depart immediately.” All honour and sea salt. The first hero she met after so many years of false Kings. 

So she is thankful that Brienne is with her here. A hero all her own. To face down the next obstacle standing in her family’s way. 

She settles into silence and lets her thoughts wander for a while. Thinking of nothing in particular. 

Until, “Brienne, can I ask you something? If you don’t wish to answer it’s okay. Let me know if I’ve overstepped.”

Brienne turns in her saddle, a look of confusion sweeping across her face, “Go ahead.”

“How do you feel… About Ser Jaime’s return,” Sansa hesitantly asks. It is a formality she almost never uses when speaking of him but she knows that Brienne respects him deeply. 

Brienne turns away for a moment and Sansa thinks she won’t respond. It is not something they have spoken of often. When he came to Winterfell for the Long Night they had spoken a few times on Brienne’s time with him, the journey they shared and why she trusted him. It was enough for Sansa and she didn’t pry but she had wondered if there was something more. Since his return to Westeros, Brienne had been nothing but formal in his presence.

She speaks suddenly and she sounds far away, “I thought I could love him once. I thought he might love me. Maybe he did. But his love for Cersei… It will always burn brighter. I felt so awful and wretched when he left for King’s Landing but nothing had ever even happened between us, no false promises. Maybe in another life. And now. Well, now she’s changed. I’m happy for them,” And Brienne sees Sansa’s eyes widen, “Truly, I am. Jaime deserves happiness and he finally gets that with Cersei.”

“And what about you Brienne? Are you happy?” Sansa asks softly, taken aback by her friend's sudden disclosure of so much. 

“I am happy my Lady, fear not,” and Brienne lets out a rare crooked grin and Sansa knows the seriousness of the moment is over. 

And so they continue on, practically within the city’s shadow now. Sansa is parched and she can’t wait to arrive and quench her thirst. The desert climate doesn’t sit right with her. She has winter in her bones and no amount of time in the sun will change that. 

Beyond her awaits Arianne, unaware at the moment that she is waiting for anything or anyone. And Sansa can only hope that they can come together. A daughter of snow and a daughter of sand, to put an end to the daughter of fire and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that all my university courses have gone online hopefully I will have some time to devote to this! Fingers crossed for another update next Sunday. If you haven't seen, I posted a one shot yesterday that is an 8x01 au. It is much more angsty and tension filled than this story so I really loved writing it. If you have a chance you should check it out :) 
> 
> Also this is obvious but there was never any Braime hookup in this universe. I think they care deeply for each other, and as I said, maybe in another life. But to be clear I won't be exploring that pairing here, but wanted to address their relationship in the fic for the sake of continuity. 
> 
> As always, leave a comment. They make my day, to know you are enjoying this as much as I am!


	10. these new flocks are nothing but vultures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go! dragon queen and it's a long one

The woman before her had a glint in her eyes that set Daenerys’ teeth on edge. She reminded her of that damn red woman, Melisandre. She was dressed plainly, but Daenerys thinks she could place a crown on the woman’s head and she would appear every bit a queen. The air around her almost crackled with sparks and she couldn’t tell if she should be apprehensive or excited to hear what the woman was going to say. 

The woman had apparently talked with Varys and Tyrion at length about why she must meet with the Queen but she was tightlipped and elusive with her reasoning. Regardless she insisted that it was of utmost importance and refused to leave until they had spoken. Varys and Tyrion had been wary but had sought Daenerys out and told her of the woman.

She had been more than willing to speak with her. It was not often that people sought her on days she didn’t open her court to the public and nobody so mysterious had come to her in a long time. It would also help take her mind off the problem with Cersei and Jaime. 

She had interrogated the troop of soldiers who had gone to Lys at length and they had given her no more information than what they provided when first arriving. Apparently they arrived and heard about a couple who had just fled with their two young children who matched their description to the point, and were later seen fleeing on an unknown ship to Westeros. 

Daenerys was almost certain that there was some key information missing from their tale but somehow none of them were giving it up. Idiots, all of them. 

Despite her advisors' warnings that she shouldn’t continue to hold them as her prisoners she had not let any of them leave the cells. She had no use for them. Honestly, she wished to burn them for this failure, but she knew she had to control that impulse. It was more important than ever to appear in control, with the instability around her she cannot let them see her fracture. Not now. 

She had long tired of interrogating them so she made sure they were being fed and that was about it. She had Varys’ birds searching the realm but they had apparently turned up nothing. Troubling. Varys seemed more distant than ever these days. But she had never learned to decipher what of that was his personality and what of it could be a sign of betrayal. She needed to trust him though, he was her best chance at finding the Lannisters and settling this once and for all. 

So yes, she agreed to meet with this strange woman, if for nothing more than for a mental break. Gods knew she needed it. Her only reprieve in the last weeks was the night she had snuck out of the castle to be with Drogon and Rhaegal. Missandei had assisted in covering for her, and she had spent a few hours in the dead of night with her children. The two which remained to her. 

In front of her the woman flashed a grin and Daenerys was alert again. 

“Your Grace,” She starts, her voice smooth and liquid like oil, “Thank you so much for meeting with me. I must admit, I hoped for some more privacy. The information I have for you is quite sensitive.” 

Daenerys looked around the room, it was herself, Ser Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, and Grey Worm who were present at the moment. Hardly a large crowd.

“Anything you can tell me, trust that my advisors can hear as well. There is nothing I need keep from them,” Daenerys says with a tight smile, not fully believing her own words. 

“Apologies, Your Grace, but I beg to differ. Let me tell you the information first and then you may decide who you share it with,” Her smile is like a fox’s, Daenerys decides.

And how fitting that is for a woman who dares defy her Queen. Despite this Daenerys feels a certain kinship to this woman.

“Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm, give us the room,” Daenerys says dismissively and can see the first two start to protest. She turns back to the woman though, “You will have to allow me Ser Jorah, he is my sworn shield and longest standing advisor. I would trust him with my life. I have before.”

Surprisingly Grey Worm, usually more concerned with her safety, makes no protest and leaves the room quietly. He must think the woman poses no threat. But both Tyrion and Varys look distressed. Oh well, she thinks. Let them be distressed, she is their Queen and if she needs, Jorah will protect her. 

Jorah takes a small step closer to Daenerys despite the woman not moving in the slightest. Daenerys and Jorah share the slightest of glances but truly it is unnecessary. They have been here before, the two of them against the world. How she prefers to operate, if she is being fully honest with herself. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” The woman says and starts to walk around the room, “Now let us discuss what you may be willing to do for this information.”

She feels rather than sees Jorah stiffen beside her. She knows he wishes to speak, but he learned a long time ago to let Daenerys hold her own.

“I—” Daenerys pauses, confused, “What I will do for you?”

She is already regretting her decision to talk to this woman. Her defiance which was once endearing is quickly becoming grating. 

“Trust me Your Grace, the information I have is highly prized. I don’t know if anyone else in the Kingdom could bring it to you or if they even would in my position. So yes, what are you willing to provide to receive this information,” the woman, who had been walking around the room taking it in stops, closer now to Daenerys and Jorah, and stares her down. 

“If you give me the information first, and it proves reliable then we can discuss compensation options. If you prefer to play games and disrespect your Queen though, well then I can think of other things we could be doing with our time, my dragons are not so far,” Daenerys lets the threat hang. 

But the woman laughs, a short sharp laugh, “Oh, Daenerys Stormborn,” The strangeness of being called that weighs on Daenerys,”You won’t do that, Your Grace. I know you. You are a woman driven by your desire, desire for power. A conqueror if I ever saw one. The information I have will allow you to conquer enemies. And to burn me alive, without knowing what it is? It is not in your nature.”

Daenerys, incensed now, says, “And how do you know that I won’t burn you alive once I have the information anyways?”

The woman just stares at her unspeaking. Daenerys raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“The information… Your Grace, trust me when I say it is of a nature that you will not wish to do that,” She says, still evasive.

“Enough,” Daenerys says, giving in suddenly, “Whatever it is you desire, I will find a way to procure it for you.”

She does not mean it, not really. There are things that she would refuse. But the woman likely just wants gold, and while her Kingdom is deep in debt she knows they will have enough to please this woman. But she can wait no longer for what the woman wants to say. ‘

“You give me your word?” The woman asks, and remembering herself, “Your Grace?”

“I swear it,” Daenerys says without so much as batting an eye at her lie. 

The woman nods and moves toward Daenerys. Her lips parting. 

“Sansa Stark moves against you. As we speak she is likely in Dorne, conspiring with Arianne Martell,” having spoken the woman takes a step back and peers expectantly up at the throne. 

Daenerys thinks she might vomit. The compulsion comes over her suddenly and it is not something she feels often. But she thinks she just might. She suddenly recalls a dream that she had forgotten, Arianne, Sansa, and Cersei. All three of them, looming over her. It was too much. Her thoughts spiral and she doesn’t know how long passes. 

“Khaleesi… “ Jorah’s voice feels far away and she is barely aware of his arms around her. She can’t see the woman anymore. 

“Khaleesi, are you okay?”

And like that Daenerys is back. 

“How—how do you know this?” Her voice is hoarse like the air was physically ripped from her lungs. 

Jorah lets go of his grip on her shoulders and steps away. She can see the woman again. 

“I saw them a few weeks ago near Ashford. Her and some woman, I believe she is the Stark woman’s lady knight. I do not know her name but have heard her spoken of. They were camped out and believed themselves to be alone. They spoke of meeting with Arianne and what they could tell her to convince her to join forces against you. They left camp before I heard more but I had been perched in a tree unseen the whole time,” The story spills out of her in whispers and Daenerys can see the greed on the woman’s face. Her dreams of riches and glory are plain as day. 

Daenerys, rapidly regaining her composure, asks, “How do you know it was Sansa Stark? Why should I trust you?”

The woman is silent for a moment and then, “Many years ago now I was a chambermaid at the Vale. This was during the time that Sansa Stark lived there under the name of Alayne Stone. She had disguised herself similar as to how she did then. I recognized her immediately.”  
Daenerys inhales. It seemed plausible enough. 

“Ashford? You said it was a few weeks ago? How long exactly? If she was at Ashford she could be to Dorne and gone no problem by now,” Daenerys digs deeper. 

“Sansa Stark is no wildling your Grace. I imagine they are taking quite a leisurely pace. They have no reason to make haste if they don’t think you know anything of their plans. She is a woman made for a Throne not for a horse,” The woman says, almost conspiratorial. 

Yes, she thinks. Sansa never had the grit that Daenerys herself had come to possess. Hadn’t lived in the purgatory of Essos and the Great Grass Sea. She had commanded Khalasars and ridden horseback across a continent. Sansa Stark was no such woman. Still, the comment from the woman irked her. Sansa Stark? Made for a throne? The implication was obscene. 

“Thank you, we will investigate your information thoroughly,” Daenerys says, smiling serenely. 

She sees the woman perk up.

“So does this mean we can discuss… my compensation, your Grace?”

“Compensation?”

“Yes, you just said—”

“Ser Jorah, have this woman brought out to the cells under the old Dragon pit. I will fetch Drogon when I am ready,” Daenerys interrupts her. 

Jorah looks taken aback but doesn’t hesitate to seize the woman. Before he reaches her though she lets out a shriek.

“You promised! You foul woman! You’re nothing more than the butcher they say you are, I thought you would be more, be a Queen in truth!” Jorah seizes her and she tries to wrestle out of his grip. Just screaming in earnest now. 

“Nobody tells me what I am. What I can do. Not to live and tell about it,” Daenerys says with all the venom she has in her. 

Jorah is dragging her out of the room but she quiets just before they exit. 

“From what I heard, Sansa Stark did just that and yet she is living and rising up against you at this very moment,” The woman says as Jorah closes the door behind them.

Daenerys is suddenly very alone. The room is empty. Just like that she is a little girl, alone in the world without even the likes of Viserys to protect her. She shivers despite the relative warmth of the room, the fires burning only steps away. Dragons do not chill, and yet she cannot stop shaking. She has things to do and plans to enact but all she can think of is Sansa Stark. The girl’s face is blinding her. Sansa fucking Stark. 

~~~

It had been less than an hour since Daenerys had ordered the woman taken away but she felt as if she had aged ten years. She had stayed in her throne room for maybe five minutes composing herself before receding into the small council room where Tyrion, Varys, and Grey Worm were waiting for her. She had told Grey Worm to get Missandei, she needed her for this, and then hadn’t said a word more until all of them, and Ser Jorah returned. 

Varys and Tyrion, for once, had held their tongues. She thinks she must have looked like death. They feared her in this moment, she could tell they thought she was coming apart at the seams. And maybe she was.

Once they were all gathered she had told them in a hoarse whisper what the woman had told them, what their fate was. Tyrion had taken convincing, he was not going to trust the woman on her word alone. But the rest had been easily swayed. They had all agreed that it was only a matter of time before the Starks did something like this and Ser Jorah had vouched for the woman’s sincerity, her story about the Vale. 

Tyrion, having been outnumbered, continued, “But the Martells? Sansa is smarter than that. She has no relationship with Arianne, she knows that Arianne spent months in the capital. I would be surprised if Arianne wasn’t on her way to the capital right now with Sansa and Brienne in chains. It would be the smart play, winning the trust of her Queen and securing you as a close ally moving forward.”

“Weeks ago, Tyrion,” Daenerys sighs, exhausted, “The woman said she saw them weeks ago, Arianne would be here by now, don’t you think, if that were the case?”

Daenerys had been thinking it over and while she initially wanted to believe that Sansa was weak, not equipped for travel, she couldn’t deny that the woman was not so arrogant to think that she could take time with such a dangerous plan. She must be moving quickly. It was not good, it made the entire situation perilous and more urgent, if they had indeed left Sunspear. 

“Your Grace,” Varys interjects, “If you think that Arianne has turned on the crown… what do you suggest we do next?”

What Daenerys wished to suggest was getting on Drogon and burning Winterfell to ashes. But she knew her advisors, she knew that they would want to temper her immediate impulse. And she wasn’t opposed to hearing them out, but her first thought was very, very enticing right now. 

“We must mobilize our forces, we have to assume we could be under attack at any time. Call in the great houses, we cannot let them get the upper hand,” Daenerys says, brimming with confidence she wished she felt.

Tyrion scoffs, “And with the Starks and Martells working together? Who do you expect us to call on?”

Daenerys pauses, gathering her thoughts and she notices Missandei and Grey Worm seem to be gazing at each other intently, and she tries to catch her friend’s eye, to bring them back to the matter at hand, to no avail. She huffs instead. 

“There are several other houses Tyrion, the Starks do not dictate the rise and fall of the seven kingdoms.”

“If the Starks are moving against us, I would wager she has Riverrun and the Vale. Sansa’s kin rule both and are fond of the Starks. Don’t count on the Greyjoys either, Theon grew up in Winterfell remember. Hell, they could even have the Stormlands with their connection to Edric, but that is more tenuous, hopefully. Our chance should have laid with the strength of the Martells, but if they have switched sides… by all means I will mobilize the Lannisters, a letter should be sent immediately. And I’m sure the Tyrells are too meandering to do anything but obey, so they will come to call. But their forces are not what they used to be after the last war,” Tyrion says grimly. 

“He has a point, Khaleesi, we can’t be sure of anyone’s loyalty besides those two houses,” Jorah speaks up and backs Tyrion for once. 

And all Daenerys can think is that it is not fair. Everything Tyrion said makes sense, she can’t dispute it. But she is the Queen. How everything seems to be crumbling so quickly, she doesn’t understand it. Sansa, it all comes down to Sansa. Her Kingdoms were moving against her, their Queen. The one who had saved them from tyrants, from people like Sansa Stark who would wish to take this peace from them. 

“Your Grace, I must ask before we get too involved with the war planning, do you wish for me to continue seeking out information about Jaime and Cersei? It seems like we might have bigger problems on the horizon,” Varys inquires, calm as ever.

Daenerys can hardly believe her ears because she had sought out the woman as a distraction from the all consuming thought of Cersei Lannister, and the woman had done more than distract, she had fully driven Cersei t from her. She hadn’t thought about them in all this time. 

But it’s not Daenerys who speaks up, it’s Tyrion. 

“Oh, fuck. Seven hells, and that would make sense…” Tyrion says, to nobody in particular. He is shaking his head in disgust. 

Surprisingly it’s Grey Worm, very interested in the conversation now, who asks first, “Speak clearly Tyrion. What do you mean?”

“Well it’s all a bit convenient isn’t it? Cersei, in Westeros and suddenly Sansa is making her move against us, just like my sweet sister too, going for old enemies,” Tyrion says without humour.

But Daenerys won’t let herself comprehend his words, “What are you saying, Tyrion?”

Tyrion looks around the table, “Has it not crossed anyone else’s mind? Oh, I know my sister too well. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t put it past her to seek out Sansa Stark and use her to start a war. I would hope Sansa to be smarter than that though.”

Daenerys, barely containing herself now, “She hates the woman Tyrion. Can barely stand to hear her name! You expect me to believe she would work with her?”

“To bring down you, Khaleesi? We must consider the possibility. They both fear you,” Jorah says gently. 

The room is silent and she wants someone to contradict Tyrion and Jorah, to say something to put an end to this. 

“Khaleesi, I suggested the same thing a few weeks ago, do you remember? You thought it far-fetched but perhaps…?” Missandei speaks up, looks at her dearest friend sadly. 

“So, assuming you are all correct, then what you are all telling me is that we won’t have the Lannisters either but only the Tyrells? That Cersei is likely harnessing the Rock as we speak?”

It is a conclusion Daenerys had come to on her own but clearly not something that the others had fully realized. 

“The Rock... “ Tyrion trails off. 

“Do they even like your sister?” Jorah questions Tyrion. 

“Cersei was somewhat mythic there, untouchable I think. But they hate her no more than they probably hate me. Jaime though, they loved Jaime as my father did,” Tyrion says, lost in thought. 

The silence around the room allows Daenerys a moment to think but she can’t think about anything but her dragons. How, at the very least she’ll be riding them soon, nothing makes her feel more alive, more in touch with her Targaryen ancestors than that. And the people who die because of it, well, they can’t say she didn’t warn them. 

“Varys, send letters to the Tyrells and Lannisters immediately, any lesser houses you think would remain loyal as well. Promise whatever is needed. Grey Worm and Ser Jorah, please begin readying the castle guards and the unsullied. Tyrion,” but when she turns to him she feels as if she is looking at a ghost. He looks hollow. 

He is muttering under his breath and looks like he might break into tears. It frightens Daenerys deeply, it is not something she has seen in her hand before. 

“Tyrion, are you unwell?” She asks softly.

“I never should’ve helped them, the bitch. Seven hells Cersei, after all I did for her,” Tyrion is shaking his head and his words come out nonsensically at first but slowly the clipped meaning starts to paint a picture for Daenerys.

She feels herself rising out of her seat. 

“Tyrion!” She snaps. 

And when he looks up she knows. It’s like a fog is lifted and he realizes where he is all at once. Everyone at the table looks at him. Jorah and Grey Worm appear ready to pounce on Daenerys’ word, Missandei appears apprehensive but her wide eyes show her understanding, Varys is as impassive as ever. And Daenerys. She is fuming. 

“Your Grace, I—” Tyrion is walking around the side of the table but Jorah blocks his path and he stumbles back. 

Daenerys' breath rushes out through her nose, her whole body tensing and she interrupts him, “Tell me Tyrion, what exactly do you mean by ‘all you did for her’, ‘Her’ as in Cersei right? Is this a confession? A confession to the night your siblings disappeared from my dungeon, the night before they were to be sentenced to death?”

Daenerys is in her stride, she has pushed her way around Jorah and looms over her Hand. A dragon staring down its prey.

“Your Grace, you must understand—” 

“What must I understand Tyrion! That it is you who has brought this doom on me? That you are the one who would betray me? After all the faith I put into you. I do hope to understand one day how you created some clever plan that provided you with some twenty witnesses as your alibi. After all that I have given you Tyrion, this is how you repay me? You would still be performing tricks in Essos if I hadn’t lifted you up and brought you home. You disgust me,” Daenerys is yelling, still towering over Tyrion, allowing her tirade to wash over him all at once. 

Tyrion doesn’t even have the honour to look her in the eye. He collapses to his knees instead but before he can blubber more, she turns on her heel. 

“Jorah, Grey Worm, take him to a cell. I don’t want to see him for the rest of the day,” They make a move to grab him and he mercifully doesn’t protest, “And while you’re down there, prepare our lovely messenger. She will be burnt tonight.” 

In an instant they have taken Tyrion from the hall. It takes Daenerys a long time to turn around. She stands looking at the door. Her own Hand. It was Tyrion all along. She feels dirty just thinking about it and oh so stupid. She wants to cry but she won’t, not now. She will deal with Tyrion but she needs to prepare for the war. She is unbelievably angry, and hurt. But she will let it fuel her, she will put it into defeating the rest of her enemies. Tyrion can wait. 

When she turns, Missandei and Varys are all that remain. 

Daenerys has to ask, “Did you know?” She turns to Varys, desperate.

He stares at her for a long time, “No, your Grace. I didn’t know. You know I vouched for him myself that night. But a part of me did always wonder… if I was mistaken. It was so clearly him and yet… No, I didn’t know. And for that I apologize to you.”

Daenerys nods. In part it is an unsatisfactory answer. Murky and asking as many questions as it answers, as Varys always is but she needs him, needs his resources. She will have to make her peace with it, and fast. 

“Missandei, let us leave here,” Missandei rises on command and they both make to leave. 

“You recall your instructions Lord Varys?” Daenerys asks as she reaches for the door. 

She turns back to see him nod once, and they leave him alone in the room.

~~~

After trailing Daenerys around the palace and seeing her lay plans into action to mobilize their forces against the north (and the South), Missandei was exhausted. She had mercifully been spared watching Daenerys burn that woman alive but Daenerys had asked her to join her for a drink back in her chambers afterward and she could hardly refuse. She was free from all of that now, Daenerys turning in after one drink and her only thoughts at the moment were of crawling into her nice warm bed and sleeping in, that is if Daenerys didn’t have her sent for at some ungodly hour. She really wished their Queen could get back to a regular sleeping schedule.

And so as she made her way back through the quiet castle, she let her mind go back over the day’s events. Despite the trouble it was going to bring them, she couldn’t help feeling vindicated about Cersei. Sure, they hadn’t proved anything yet but they all found it likely that Cersei was aligning herself with the Starks. And it was something Missandei herself had figured out weeks ago. She had hardly met the woman, she knew Sansa a bit better yes, but she had only met Cersei at that fateful dragonpit meeting. 

In truth, the woman had reminded her a bit of Daenerys herself, but she would never say such thoughts out loud. Maybe late at night to Grey Worm, cloaked in the darkness of their chambers. Cersei had been regal, Missandei couldn’t deny it. And she reminded her of Daenerys, the Daenerys of Essos at least. She was unflinching and so powerful, she’d worn the power with pride. She had frightened Missandei a bit. It was clear that if she did feel apprehensive she wasn’t going to let them see it. 

And she could tell Cersei had a survival instinct like no other, not unlike Daenerys. Teaming up with a sworn enemy would not be below her, not if it ensured her safety. And especially not if her children were involved, Missandei had heard the countless tales of the doomed Lannister bastards. All the better for Cersei that teaming up with Sansa was the last thing anyone had expected her to do, to Missandei it had all seemed so obvious. And yet Daenerys had disregarded her. 

She tried to not let it disappoint her, but she felt more and more often that while Daenerys often referred to Missandei as her closest friend and confidant, she really only viewed Missandei as a vessel to bounce her own ideas off of. Since coming to Westeros a bit of the glamour around her had started to crack for Missandei, and she wasn’t sure that she liked what she saw underneath. 

She had come to admit to herself that for many years she had been a bit awed by the woman. And while she couldn’t deny she held a great love and respect for her, she was growing to question her more and more every day. 

She’d had this conversation with Grey Worm many times at this point, but they both felt helpless to act. She wanted Daenerys to be the queen she had always dreamed of being, she wanted that for her friend but she didn’t know how she could help her when any advice she gave her was always disregarded. 

Missandei was quickly coming to her chambers but her mind was still racing so she stopped at one of the hall’s windows and peered out at the sleeping city, the city Daenerys had yearned for for years, but had she lost herself along the way? Was a city really worth it? 

When Daenerys had freed her she had felt indebted, she had wanted to believe in Daenerys’ vision so badly, she wanted that new world. But what truly separated Daenerys from the rulers she had so despised? Or worse, from her father, the Mad King?

These days, the answer was unclear to Missandei and it troubled her. Over a year ago she had broached the subject of returning to Naath with Grey Worm, things had begun to settle in Westeros and she didn’t think it would be met with such resistance. Daenerys had brushed her off and asked why she would want to return when they had everything they wanted right here. Even when Missandei had ensured that she would return and visit often, Daenerys was unwilling. She never outright refused, but she made sure to not give her permission either. 

Years ago Jon Snow had asked her what Daenerys would say if she asked to leave and she had been so confident in her answer, there were no doubts then. Now she knew the truth. And a sad truth it was. It broke her heart to admit it but she couldn’t deny it any longer.

She thought of Tyrion being hauled off, her shock. She had always thought Daenerys too harsh on Tyrion’s familial ties, too devoid of empathy for a man obviously distressed by his siblings but he also had a shared history there, yet he was expected to disregard it all. And now she couldn’t help but wonder if Daenerys hadn’t pushed so hard when they’d first come to Westeros, if she hadn’t been so distrustful if that wouldn’t have secured his loyalty instead, if they wouldn’t have executed them long ago and Tyrion’s loyalty never would have waived.

But Missandei’s what ifs exhausted her further. She couldn’t endlessly wonder how things would change if Daenerys had acted as such, she could only acknowledge that the way she was acting now was wrong. She hated it. 

She had imprisoned her own Hand, she wondered how long that would take to spread around. The continent would be beside itself with rumours in a week’s time. If she recalled correctly, the Mad King had gone through a slew of Hands before his own mad descent. It did not bode well. Perhaps history did repeat itself. 

Missandei had tried to bring Daenerys around to hear Tyrion out over their wine tonight but she refused to open the subject at all. As stubborn as ever.

Oh if her Queen could hear her thoughts, she would be the one burned alive next. 

As Missandei stares over the city she’s suddenly embraced from behind and she feels soft lips meet her neck gently. While startled she recognizes that it is Grey Worm in an instant and she melts into his embrace, her safe haven amongst the madness. 

“What keeps you up my love, I expected to find you already asleep in bed yet you’re out here?”

She turns to face him, keeping herself in his arms, “And I didn’t expect you back until morning, busy with war plans, no?”

He shrugs non-committedly, “There isn’t much to do in truth, we await further word from her.”

Grey Worm had taken to calling Daenerys only ‘her’ in private. He hadn’t been happy when she had refused them Naath. His resentment grew more every day.

“Let us go into our chambers,” Missandei grabs his hand and pulls him down the hall. She doesn’t want anyone to overhear them, not for this. 

When they enter Grey Worm releases a breath and goes to collapse in a chair. 

“She’s mad Missandei. Imprisoning Tyrion? Burning that woman alive? She still has the soldiers from the Lannister mission in prison, we should leave now, tonight, before it’s too late,” He looks at her desperately. 

It’s not the first time he’s suggested this over the last few months. 

“I don’t disagree,” She says slowly and makes her way to the chair beside him, “But I think… we might do more good from here.”

She has chosen her words carefully, hoping that he gets her meaning without her having to speak the words. She doesn’t think she is ready yet. 

“You mean… Missandei would you be willing to do something like that? You have been friends for years, to betray her, I know how much she has meant to you,” He says solemnly and takes her hands in his. 

She only nods. 

“When—” She has to pause, restarts, “When I was in the crypts for the battle of Winterfell. Sansa Stark said some choice words about Daenerys and I told her that we would all be dead if not for her. But when the dead rose in the crypts and they started breaking down the doors to our hiding place, our place of safety… It was Sansa, with shaking hands, who wielded a dagger to protect her people. She had never done such a thing in her life, but I felt hope. In the worst of situations I felt myself calm and steady, I knew we would be okay. It’s been a long time since Daenerys made me feel that way. Not since we were in Essos at least.”

Missandei can’t help but hang her head. The words of betrayal and regret leaving her in a rush. A part of her is relieved, the other ashamed. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Grey Worm takes her by the hand and leads her across the room, “Nothing has to be decided tonight. But now we know where we are going, what we are working towards. Tomorrow we can plan. Now we sleep.”

And she lets herself be led into bed, feeling lighter than she has in ages, but also fearful of what is ahead of her. She curls herself into Grey Worm. When her head hits the pillow, she is asleep in seconds. 

~~~

Many hours later, after Missandei and Grey worm had fallen asleep wrapped up in one another, while Tyrion lay awake in a dark and dampened cell, and Daenerys slept fitfully in her bed of silks, Varys worked tirelessly. 

Over the years he had let everyone think, slowly and carefully, that his resources were drying up. That his little birds had all but flown away, and that he just wasn’t as valuable (or as dangerous) as he had been under different rulers. But that complacency from those around him had prepared him for this. He didn’t know when or in what form his opportunity would come, but he knew that when it did he needed to be prepared, and he was. 

When he had received word that Cersei and Jaime were making for Winterfell he knew how important that information was to keep close. He couldn’t risk the Queen finding out but a moment too soon or everything would be for naught. The messenger woman had been an unexpected twist in his plan, but overall he was pleased. She had come by the information in a way that could never implicate him in its foretelling. 

Since finding out about Cersei and Jaime he had worked at all hours to ensure his little birds were singing songs across the Kingdoms to get him the information he needed, yes there were gaps, but he believed he had enough pieces to put together a general picture. He knew, if not exactly, that the Starks and Lannisters were coming together to assemble the Kingdoms against Daenerys, that it was likely an alliance too strong for her to stand against. But her dragons would devastate Westeros if this went to the battlefield, even if the opposition triumphed, they would sustain heavy losses. It was worrisome. Where the dragons were concerned Varys had little control. He could only hope that the Starks had thought this through, there was the other with Targaryen blood to consider… Jon Stark.

He could recall sitting in Winterfell and watching him sit between Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen. He thinks now that he knew then. He had fooled himself into seeing the powerful force Jon and Daenerys could’ve been. But seeing Jon and Sansa together had shown him the true meaning of strength, of leaders that could rule through peace and not through fear. He thought now of their children, a Targaryen father and a Stark mother, though he knew Jon loathed to admit to that part of his heritage. The right family names, none of the madness of the Targaryen dynasty seeming to touch Jon. The strength of wolves and the honour of fish in Sansa Stark’s blood. Together, Varys thought, they had made an incredible match. 

He could hardly believe Sansa Stark when he had seen her in the courtyards of Winterfell after all those years. He had thought for a moment that he was seeing Catelyn Stark resurrected, and when Jon had embraced her, he saw Ned Stark returning to his wife after a long hard war. He hadn’t been so far off base he imagined. Jon wasn’t dumb Varys knew. He was a war tactician and had enough cleverness to dupe the lot of them into believing in his honour. But he thought that Sansa Stark was the one who was unstoppable between the two of them. She had been just icy enough to Daenerys to make her feelings known, while veiling it all in courtesy she had learned at the heel of Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell.

So many mistakes he thought, if he had seen the potential in Sansa years ago, if any of them had, well things would be very different. And yet, Varys stopped himself, someone had seen that potential in her. Littlefinger. His long dead nemesis had plucked Sansa out of King’s Landing and groomed her to rule by his side, or so Varys had assumed. But it had been Littlefinger’s arrogance, his greed and lust that had done him in in the end. He had been so concerned with his own plans that he thought Sansa would still retain loyalty to him after the debacle with the Boltons. Idiocy. Maybe Littlefinger hadn’t seen Sansa’s intelligence, and only his own desire. He supposed he would never know now. It had been a grave mistake for the man he had known well.

And he had heard that story at length, the way Sansa and her siblings had pulled their wolves’ wool over his eyes and had him bleed out in the hall where Sansa would later come to welcome Jaime Lannister into their ranks. Oh, if Varys had known the woman the girl in King’s Landing would become. From a pawn to the most powerful player on the board, the red wolf of Winterfell. Sansa Stark. 

Unfortunately, he had realized all of this too late. More often than not Varys didn’t think he was likely to make it out of this oncoming war alive. He could only hope that he could make enough of a difference to turn the tides and secure a better future for Westeros. He had tried and failed in this goal so many times it felt like a wretched thing to hope for, but he wasn’t done yet. 

And so, as he had countless times before, he dipped his quill into an ink pot and crafted a letter. A letter filled with uncertainty on his part. Discovering that Sansa herself had been in Dorne was startling and worrisome. He had to hope that she was long gone and that she would return to the one place he had heard something reliable about. He knew that the only Stark who remained in Winterfell was Jon, and he had heard nothing of the Lannisters since their arrival in Winterfell, but he had only heard of Bran’s whereabouts since Arya, Sansa, and Bran departed. Riverrun. 

He would send the letter to Riverrun in hopes that it reached Sansa, in a desperate hope that it is where she headed next. If not, Bran would receive it, and if Bran had left by then he could only hope that Edmure had enough sense to keep the letter a secret and send it to Sansa as soon as possible. Sending the letter to Dorne was too risky given the circumstances. And Riverrun would make more sense from a defensive standpoint, if they were preparing for a battle. 

The letter, perhaps, wasn’t much. Just a mere warning that the Dragon Queen was onto them, that she was planning her own moves as they spoke, but Varys had to believe that it would be enough. 

And so, Varys thought, as he blew out his last candle, when Daenerys asked him in the morning if he had sent the letters she had requested of him, his response would only be part lie. He would send the letters she wished, to the Lannisters and Tyrells but he would do more, send an additional letter to the last person the Dragon Queen would dream of knowing her plans. In the darkness of his chambers Varys looked up, never quite believing in the gods but imploring them now, if they were out there, to keep the Dragon Queen ignorant to his duplicity long enough to give him a chance at survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is dealing okay with the crazy stuff going on with our world and hopefully reading this gave you a bit of an escape from all of it! This chapter gave me so much difficulty, I struggle the most with Dany's chapters, she fascinates me but I find it hard to get into her headspace. Then writing from Missandei's POV terrified me, I tried very hard to show her conflict because I think the position she is in is anything but easy but I actually really enjoyed the scene in the end. Then writing a bit about Varys was fun as well!
> 
> Also, timeline note. So the last chapter ended with our characters arriving at the destinations but this chapter takes place a few weeks after that. The next chapter will hop back in time to Sansa/Brienne at Dorne, Arya/Gendry at Storm's End, Bran at Riverrun, Jaime/Cersei at Casterly Rock, and check in with Jon at Winterfell. But for the flow of the story I thought it made sense to put this chapter here! If there's any confusion just ask me.
> 
> Once again, please leave a comment if you are enjoying this or any feedback at all! It means the world to me.


	11. if we should die tonight, then we should all die together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite having so much time because of COVID I'm still a day late with this haha. but it is just over 10K which is a huge chapter, and a lot happens. I didn't want to break it up for obvious reasons once you read it and I'm quite proud of it, hope you all enjoy and that you are staying healthy

Bran, despite not knowing his Uncle Edmure well, had had no reservations about meeting him and essentially having to ensure that the centre point of the impending war was able to come together. Perhaps part of this was due to the residual numbing of his emotions from his time as the Three Eyed Raven but he wouldn’t dwell too long on that. Not when his visions had been slowly returning and he couldn’t know what was prophecy and what might be hanging on from his wanderings through time before the Long Night had stopped them altogether.

Regardless, he had been right in not worrying, the meeting had gone rather well. Bran had arrived in the middle of the night, he had planned it this way with the guard who had travelled with him, a select group of Winterfell men who understood subtlety. Riverrun itself was unsurprising to him, an advantage of spending all that time soaring over Westeros. Still, being in his mother’s childhood home had stirred something in his heart and he had felt like he had known the woman a little better than he had before when he saw the place she had grown up. The river she would’ve grown up knowing like the back of her hand and the lush green fields and forest she would’ve explored. 

Upon arriving they had made themselves known and insisted that they speak to Edmure immediately. Bran hadn’t kept his identity a secret, something they had discussed at length in Winterfell, they figured by this point it was inevitable that news of their rebellion was bound to slip out somehow. Bran would just hope that Edmure’s men were loyal and that the rest of the forces arrived sooner rather than later. 

Edmure had assumed that Bran coming to him in the dead of night meant there was danger for them now and not one looming on the horizon, he had looked stricken when he arrived, still in his night robes, and had asked in a grave voice if Jon and Sansa had been killed. Bran had thought that the assumption wasn’t unreasonable and that his uncle knew enough already that the Dragon Queen may be scheming against his family at the very moment. 

After assuring his Uncle that his siblings were all fine (Arya included), they had been brought to a private chamber to discuss Bran’s true purpose. 

Bran had only been apprehensive once they were in the chamber with the door closed. He had only had the smallest of interactions with Edmure during those weeks in King’s Landing when the lords and ladies had discussed Westeros’ fate. Edmure had been busy petitioning the needs of the Riverlands and had been more eager to talk with Sansa and Jon anyway, who were the clear rulers of the North. But Edmure had made it known to all of them that if they were ever in need of aid he would do what he could to help them, if for nothing else than for Catelyn and her memory. 

Despite this Bran had been hesitant, it was quite a big ask. But once again, he need not be. Edmure had been almost too enthusiastic. 

“Oh! Well of course Brandon! My bannermen will be eager, they detest the Dragon Queen, she has done nothing but drain us of our resources, taking our taxes and our resources with nothing in return. I will send letters to them tonight even, we cannot hesitate!”

Bran had known then that their Uncle Edmure was not the man to take first action himself but now that the remaining Starks had brought the war to him, he would do the honourable thing and back them in their fight, as was the Tully way: Family, Duty, Honour.

The rest of the night had been filled with Bran explaining the intricacies of their plan. Edmure had been quite excited to find out that everyone would be coming to Riverrun to mount the front, unconcerned with the possible wreckage it would bring to the Riverlands. Afterall, it was only the Riverlands and the Crownlands between here and King’s Landing. 

But in his own words Edmure had insisted that, “There is no risk too great to take down the last Targaryen, we will evacuate the Riverlands that risk assault before then, and I have no fear that the other Kingdoms will help us to rebuild when this is over.”

At the end of their night (which was rapidly turning into morning) they had parted and Edmure had shown Bran and his men to their chambers, but before he turned away he grasped Bran’s arm. 

“I don’t think I ever told you this, but Cat would’ve been so proud of you, all of you, yes even Jon. Especially now,” Edmure had held his gaze for one more moment, “There’s not a day I don’t miss her. Lysa too, despite it all. My sisters were stronger than I’ll ever be I think, but Cat’s children burn just as bright.”

He had left quickly after that but his words had lodged something in Bran’s throat and he had not been able to sleep for a long time after that. 

That had all been last night and now, with little sleep, Bran and his men were eating in the great hall of Riverrun. They had been well looked after, but risen too late for breakfast, instead catching a midday meal. 

Suddenly Bran heard noises from the hall’s doors and when he turned he saw Edmure and some of his men coming in towards the table where Bran and his men sat. What he was not expecting was the woman who emerged from behind the men. She walked through them as they slowed and came to stand right in front of Bran. 

“Bran Stark,” Meera Reed says, a bit breathless, “I didn’t think to dare believe the word of your Uncle when he told me you showed up in the dead of night.”

Bran can scarcely breathe, let alone speak. Meera, blazing as ever, stands in front of him. Whole and looking as confident as ever. Her eyes hold no remorse for leaving him all those years ago, and he can’t hold it against her. The boy he was then, when he had been the Three Eyed Raven, well. He knew enough to know the way he had treated her had gone beyond disrespectful. 

“Meera,” Bran says, and can only stare at her in disbelief. He can feel the gaze of the others on him but cannot bring himself to look away from her.

Edmure explains, “Meera was here to negotiate some trade on behalf of the Crannogmen. I knew the Reeds and Starks had gone back years and years and saw no harm in telling her about your arrival this morning when we were meeting, but she demanded to speak with you at once upon hearing the news. I don’t think I was aware you two knew each other.” 

Bran is unsurprised, there are few who know the extent of his journeys beyond the wall and he doubts that Meera had told her involvement in that tale to many, if anyone at all. 

“We are acquainted, yes, it is good to see you Meera,” He says, regaining his voice. But it is too cold, to like the Three Eyed Raven. And he sees her eyes harden more than they already are. 

Meera turns her body from him, “I apologize Lord Tully, I will have to return home at once. I must ready the Crannogmen for the war to come, is it true Bran, that we are to go to war once again?”

She asks him but doesn’t turn her body away from Edmure. 

“I’m sure Jon has sent letters to all the Northmen and the Crannogmen, you need not go just to return in a week's time,” Bran says and notes a tinge of desperation in his own voice that surprises him. 

“Regardless, I should be there to help with preparations,” Meera says and makes to leave the room. 

“Yes of course, Lady Reed. I’ll have preparations made immediately,” Edmure agrees and turns to leave the hall as well. 

Bran is left there helpless to intercede, and just before she exits she spares one glance at him. Their eyes locking for the briefest of moments. And Bran feels the boy he was years ago rise up in him, the boy who had been desperately searching for something that he didn’t yet understand. With Rickon, Osha, Jojen, Hodor, and Meera at his side. When they still had their direwolves. It is strange, he thinks, as Meera strides out of the hall, out of Riverrun, the changes they have suffered since then. And he feels a loss he didn’t know he had still been holding onto.

~~~

Edric was an ass. It was a thought Arya had considered countless times over the past few days but it was especially prevalent at the moment. 

Gendry and her had been explaining to him for about the thousandth time why it was essential for him and his men to remain where they were until the Dornish arrived but he wouldn’t hear it. 

“How do we even know the Dornish will respond to our pleas? We have no letter yet,” Edric asked argumentatively. 

Arya rolls her eyes, “Sansa will convince them. Arianne is not unreasonable, she understands the threat Daenerys poses to Westeros’ wellbeing.”

“And besides, it hardly matters Edric. We are unable to move an army right past Daenerys’ front door in the meantime. You will wait here, Arianne and her armies will join you. You will work together to overwhelm Daenerys from the south and fend off any armies they may have coming from Highgarden. The Tyrells are an unknown,” Gendry points out further. 

His agreement makes her want to smile but she resists. Teaming up on Edric seems to be the only thing they can agree on lately. She hasn’t had two moments alone with him since getting to Storm’s End and she knows it is her own fault but he is the one avoiding her now and she feels absolutely wretched about it. 

“Fine, fine. You make your point brother. I will stay here and await the Lady Arianne Martell. But do not say I didn’t advise you otherwise when your plans fall to pieces. You would want me on the front line if you had any sense,” Edric says with a chortle. 

Gendry speaks, “Edric, Arya must leave for Riverrun tomorrow and she must be certain that you understand the plan before she leaves.”

Arya tenses at his words. She doesn’t fully understand his meaning. 

“You plan to stay with me brother?” Edric raises one thick eyebrow at Gendry. 

“Someone needs to keep you in check Edric,” Gendry says without any emotion. 

“Gendry–” But Arya breaks off at his look. He looks as he did the day they rode in. Broken and desolate in his hurting. 

He wasn’t coming with her. And it terrified her. The two of them separated for the coming battles, she had thought they would fight side by side. Her with needle, him with his war hammer. She had been certain they would be passed this argument come that time. That their journey back to Riverrun would give them the opportunity to mend things, for her to apologize. The fact that she wouldn’t get that knocked the breath from her. She felt herself fighting back tears. 

“Well, then. I have other things to attend to, I will speak to the both of you later,” Edric says and strides from the room with a strut not unlike the one Arya had seen Joffrey Baratheon wear. She was just lucky that this man had none of that boy’s cruelty. 

Before Arya can react she realizes that Gendry is making to leave the room as well. 

“Gendry, stop!” She launches out of her seat and sprints across the room, nearly colliding with him when he comes to a stop. 

“What Arya?” He says, no warmth in his voice. 

They’re only an arms reach apart but Arya feels as if it is leagues separating them. She has betrayed some fundamental part of their relationship and she knows it. 

“You’re staying? In Storm’s End?” She feels her voice crack.

“I see no reason why I shouldn’t. You’ve seen Edric, he needs all the help he can get,” Gendry says evasively. 

It’s a weak excuse. Edric is a bit daft but he was committed to this war, they had no doubt of that. He had sworn to them as soon as they arrived. He had been excited at their surprise visit but had become all business upon hearing their true purpose. He held no love for the Dragon Queen, even considering she had risen him up as a lord. He had seen her cruelty as well as anyone else. And the Stormlands had seen its fair share of people leaving King’s Landing and its poverty, looking for a better life, further from the gaze of the Dragon’s flying around the keep. But Arya understood it, understood that Gendry needed a reason. 

“You—You can come with me, stay with me,” Arya is begging, she realizes belatedly. 

Gendry looks at her for a long time. So much is left unsaid between them. Arya knows the words she needs to say to make him change his mind, to make him come with her, to stay by her side. But in the end she is weak, and Gendry deserves more. 

“You’ve made your feelings on the matter quite clear I think Lady Stark. I suggest you pack, you’ll want to leave early tomorrow to get a good start on the road,” Gendry responds finally. 

And then he does leave. She is alone. And so she lets the tears pour down her face. She will allow herself this one night, one night of tears. Tomorrow she heads for Riverrun, and then the war. She will put Gendry out of her mind. Or die trying.

~~~

Yohn Royce had received the letter over breakfast. And what a letter it was. Sansa Stark was as eloquent as ever and she had not minced words. If the letter had fallen into the wrong hands there would be no question that it was treason. But it had been a risk she was willing to take. Just as bold as the day she had admitted her true identity to the Eyrie. Just as bold as the day she had ended Littlefinger’s life. Or better yet Yohn Royce thought, just as bold as all the times she had defied Daenerys Targaryen in Winterfell, the home that the Dragon Queen had dared to invade.

Yes, Sansa Stark was a woman as wild and free as the North. And Yohn Royce was proud to consider her his ally. He looked at her not unlike a father would his daughter and he was amazed at the woman she had become. He had no doubts that a reckoning was coming for Westeros and that it would happen on the heels of the Red Wolf of Winterfell. 

But unlike the reckoning that Daenerys had wrought, this would be for the good of the realm. He realized the difference and hoped that others would as well. Sansa would act not out of power lust or greed but out of fear for those she loved, and more importantly for the fear of those without power to act. 

The letter had some vagueness though, it spoke of surprising allies, and contingency plans. Things the Lady of Winterfell wouldn’t dare to put in writing. It gave Yohn Royce peace though, he was assured that whatever the plans were that they were well laid. 

“What does that letter say Lord Royce, you’ve been studying it for some ten minutes,” Robin Arryn asked him from across the table, and the boy continued to shovel his breakfast into his mouth.

Yohn Royce looked around the table. All present were loyal to the Eyrie and none of them had any great love for their Queen. Most, if not all had known Sansa Stark when she lived here as Alayne Stone and had a great regard for the woman. He didn’t question their loyalty. Robin on the other hand. The boy, well he supposed he was a man now, was still somewhat green. He hadn’t quite outgrown the frailty his late mother had imbued on him. But Yohn Royce supposed now was the time for all that to change. 

“This letter comes from your cousin, the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark. She suggests we ready ourselves and make for Riverrun at once. It appears as if the Eyrie is neutral no more, we are going to war Robin,” Royce says with a finality. 

He drops the spoon he is holding and the blood seems to drain from Robin’s face for a moment but then a resolve passes over his face and he nods his head. Yohn Royce can’t help but think there may be hope yet for the lad.

~~~

In the days since Sansa had left, Jon had been busy beyond belief. He had developed a new appreciation for the tasks that Sansa undertook as the Lady of Winterfell. Of course their duties were relatively equal, but Sansa held so much of the day to day running of the castle that he didn’t think he had fully realized it before. He would have to make it up to her once all of this was over. 

He was lucky that Gilly was so proficient and aware of what needed to be done to keep them running. She had been a huge help, all while looking after her own children, Cersei and Jaime’s twins and Cat as well when Jon was busy with his seemingly endless tasks. And that was just the regular duties. 

On top of what needed to be done, he was also managing the Lords who had been arriving daily to prepare for the war. He was lucky again on that front that he had Sam and Podrick to assist him with ensuring they were all taken care of. And really, the lords had been cooperative for once. It was no surprise to him that they were willing to take down Daenerys but he had never shaken the feeling that they didn’t fully trust him after his deceptions and the fact that he gave away their kingdom. Especially after the truth of his blood had come out. He wondered what they would think of him if they learned the whole truth, that he was the true heir all along. All their respect for Jon and their appearance of forgiveness, Jon knew, came from their devotion to Sansa. She had worked tirelessly to secure their loyalty in his time of despair and they had the relationships with the Lords they did today because of Sansa’s faith in him.

And Jon knew that now it was his turn to have faith in Sansa. And he did. He had the utmost faith in his wife. It was Arianne Martell who he mistrusted. Whenever his mind stopped whirring about all the responsibilities he must carry out, it reverted to worrying about Sansa walking straight into the viper pit. He wanted to believe that Arianne was a reasonable woman who would see the danger of Daenerys. But he also knew that she had spent a long time in the capital, negotiating with the Dragon Queen. And this worried him, what had gone on that they were unaware of? But Sansa, he knew, was capable of taming even the most dangerous opponent, and hopefully Arianne would turn out to be an ally anyways. 

As these thoughts raced through Jon’s mind, he made his way to the great hall. He hoped Tormund would arrive either today or tomorrow and that after that they could make their way to Riverrun, the wildlings not far behind them. 

But upon entering the great hall it was not Tormund he saw. 

Davos Seaworth was standing in the centre of the hall, talking with Sam and Podrick. In their circle were who Jon assumed to be Davos’ wife and his surviving sons. Jon knew his older sons had died in the preceding wars and that those who remained were young, but Jon noted that the older ones were likely to fight in the upcoming war. 

Jon let out a grin seeing his old friend. With all the planning going on he had quite forgotten about Davos’ return to Winterfell. Not even Sansa had remembered, forgetting to send him a letter amongst all their other preparations. He wondered whether in a panic Sansa had remembered on the road and wavered on whether or not to send him a letter, it would be just like her. 

Jon, still frozen and grinning like a fool, sees Davos turn towards him. 

Davos smiles, “My lord,” and bows his head. 

“Oh, none of that nonsense,” Jon says, foregoing decorum and walking across the room to embrace his friend and longtime advisor. 

“I nearly forgot you would be returning, you’ve arrived just in time,” Jon says breaking the embrace. 

“Aye, another war I hear, if Sam and Podrick here can still be trusted? I must admit I half hoped they were pulling an old man’s leg,” Davos jokes but there’s a seriousness to his eyes that makes Jon wilt a bit. 

“I wish it was Davos, I wish,” Jon says shaking his head. 

“Well, it can’t be helped then. Here, let me introduce you. This is my wife Marya and my sons,” Davos says, changing the subject and introducing Jon to his family. 

Later, Davos, Jon, Podrick, Sam, and Gilly convene in the war room to fill Davos in fully on the goings on around Winterfell. Gilly, having just arrived with Cat in arms, gives her to Jon. He had asked her to bring his daughter, he felt as if with everything going on he had so little time to spend with her and he wanted to get in everything he could before having to leave her here, without either of her parents. 

When they were done explaining their plan to Davos he appeared a bit shaken. 

“The Lannister twins are back in Westeros?” He asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

Around the room the rest of them nod. 

“And we can trust them,” Davos asks skeptically. 

“Sansa trusts them, and I trust Sansa,” Jon says resolutely.

“And Brienne trusts Ser Jaime,” Podrick pipes up. 

Davos appears to accept what they are telling him but he plagues Jon with a long stare, seems to come to a decision and speaks up.

“I’m glad to see you’ve come to trust Sansa’s judgement my boy, it suits you well,” Davos says evenly, somehow managing to not sound chastising. 

Everyone is silent for a moment and Jon feels his own face flush at some of his old mistakes. He stares down at their sleeping daughter in his arms and prepares to speak but someone beats him to it.

“Oh, he’s still as dense as ever. Didn’t want his wife running off to Dorne, as if she can’t handle herself,” Gilly teases him then, rolling her eyes but giving him a smile to show him she means it in a jest. 

Jon himself chuckles now. 

“Yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself Davos. He’s still the same old Jon bumbling around that we all know and love,” Sam says, digging in now with a grin. 

“What’s that I hear about my little crow growing sense and listening to his woman finally?” Comes a booming voice as the door suddenly opens. 

Tormund seems to fill the whole doorway. 

“Were you listening at the door?” Jon asks in mock outrage, hiding his shock at Tormund’s sudden appearance. 

“Just getting my bearings straight before I walked in on something I didn’t want to,” Tormund wiggles an eyebrow suggestively, “Who knows what you and that Queen of yours get up to in here?”

Tormund referring to Sansa as Queen does something to Jon’s chest. He’s always been bold like that, saying that she was more a queen than the ‘dragon cunt’ could ever hope to be. 

“In the war room?” Podrick asks and he sounds genuinely distressed, jumping out of his seat.

Jon rolls his eyes, “No Podrick, Tormund just doesn’t know how to mind his manners.”

With that, Jon passes Cat to Gilly’s open arms and goes to embrace an old friend, for the second time that day. Tormund engulfs him. 

Sam and Davos come to greet the man as well and there is rejoicing all around. 

“So where is that wife of yours crow? I know she loves me more than you do, it’s been too long since I’ve seen Sansa,” Tormund says when they’ve all greeted each other. 

An uneasy silence settles around the room. 

“I thought you were listening at the door…” Jon trails off. 

“Heard something about Dorne that’s right, you mean now though? She’s down in the South, what for?”

“Tormund, we are going to war. We hope that the wildlings will back us,” Jon says in a rush, he had hoped to be kinder about the request but as things with Tormund so often went, he had lost control of the conversation.

Tormund lets out a large belly laugh. 

“Oh finally! You mean to say that we are turning against the Dragon Cunt? About time Lord Snow,” Tormund says and knocks Jon’s shoulder. 

“I’ll go send the other wildlings who journeyed with me to alert the rest of the clans, we can be ready quickly. Don’t forget us wildlings move much faster than you Southerners, especially if there’s a battle coming to get our blood hot,” Tormund continues with a wicked grin. 

And in that moment, Jon thinks they might be okay. He sees Cat resting easy in Gilly’s arms and he knows that woman will take care of everyone in Winterfell when the rest of them have to leave. He thinks their forces are all coming together, and he knows he will see Sansa in Riverrun shortly, he has to believe that. 

~~~

They were fucked. That much was clear.

Cersei should never have been so stupid. To believe that Casterly Rock would welcome them back like Kings and Queens. It was inconceivable. She could see that now. When they had arrived, the Winterfell men had got them in under the guise of bringing in their goods for trade. And they had asked to speak to whoever was holding the castle at present. 

When a smattering of Lannister relatives had emerged, Cersei and Jaime had revealed themselves from the cart they were concealed within, and to their dismay realized that in truth none of these relatives were likely to help them. 

That point had been proven rather quickly once they were taken into custody and the Winterfell men were all sent to cells to await a decision on what to do with them. 

And so for the last hour Cersei and Jaime had sat in chains in a room attempting to overhear what their distant family was saying from the next room. 

“Who the fuck even are they? I hardly recognized any of them,” Jaime asks for the tenth time. 

“Well they surely recognized us,” Cersei says with annoyance. 

The moment they had emerged the family had known who they were and had wasted no time apprehending them. Jaime had reached for his sword but Cersei had shouted at him to stop. Then they were both promptly gagged. Luckily those had been removed when they were brought into this chamber. 

“Of course they did, you were Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, in case you forgot. And I know half of them have probably spent the last decade hiding out here gossipping about the ‘Kingslayer’”, Jaime says trying to keep things light. 

Before Cersei can respond the door across the room from them opened and some distant great Uncle emerges. Cersei knows better than to speak, realizing that it is best to keep her tongue until it can have the most profound impact. 

Their Uncle makes his way over to them, and to her surprise he starts releasing their shackles. 

“Any funny business and we have 20 men with swords in this next room,” He says seriously. 

Cersei swallows down any fear she might have. Her only chance is likely only minutes away. She must succeed. If she hopes to see Joanna and Ciseron again one day, then she cannot falter. 

For the moment, she allows herself to be unchained and led into the adjacent chamber. Jaime follows behind her. She’s grateful that he is holding his tongue as well. 

In the chamber there are some thirty relatives. Men and women all, older and younger than Jaime and Cersei themselves. And Cersei sees familiar faces, those she knew from her time growing up. Not all Lannisters but all related somehow. But she hadn’t considered that those she hoped to have as allies might no longer reside at the Rock, that they may have died in the last war. An oversight she wasn’t proud of. 

She had never spent much time in her childhood paying attention to the “lesser” Lannisters and if she paid for it now she would never forgive herself. 

“Well,” A second cousin (she believes) begins, “What do the two of you have to say for yourselves? We have all been here discussing what to do with you, but it was decided we might actually want to hear why you have come home after all this time, surely there is a reason?”

“A fine idea cousin,” Jaime says with his signature smirk.

Cersei could kill him. Belittling them will not get the two of them out of this mess. 

“Who holds Casterly Rock now?” Cersei says, focusing the attention on her. 

There are several mumblings and the same cousin responds.

“Tyrion Lannister of course, with the two of you presumed dead, he was heir,” the same cousin responds but he looks a bit sheepish now. 

Good. This works in Cersei’s favour.

“Yet he is not here now?” Cersei questions the room, despite knowing the answer already herself. 

A woman Cersei believes to be a great aunt of sorts speaks now, “Of course not you insipid twit. He is the hand to the Queen, he resides in King’s Landing. As your father often did while serving Aerys.”

Cersei doesn’t flinch at the insult, won’t even acknowledge it. 

“Ahh yes. But Tywin Lannister frequented the Rock plenty did he not? Aerys himself resided at the Rock for a while with our father. Does the Dragon Queen visit often? Surely my darling brother spends months here at least, caring for the people of Casterly Rock?” 

She knows she has them, has their attention, and she’s halfway there. Her father had told her once that the Lannisters of the Rock just wanted an easy life, to be looked after and drowned in riches. It was the surest way to achieve their loyalty. And Cersei wanted to give them exactly that. 

The cousin from before speaks up again, “I don’t see why it matters to you how often Tyrion is here. You and the Kingslayer are disgraced. You brought ruin to our family and besmirched our name with your bastard spawn.”

Cersei grits her teeth but it’s Jaime who responds first, taking a step towards their cousin.

“Think you’re clever there cousin? Calling me Kingslayer? Every person in this room knows I saved the realm that day. As Cersei did the day she surrendered to Daenerys Targaryen, stopping her from burning the continent. Or would you have rather I killed my own father instead? Have Cersei let Daenerys burn her alive? Is that how Lannisters behave?”

Cersei is impressed and in the silence Jaime continues. He walks around the room, looking at all of them in turn. 

“Our brother, Tyrion, brought the Dragon Queen to Westeros and ripped my sister, the Queen, from her throne. That act disgraced the Lannister name, replacing Cersei with a Targaryen. The last of which, may I remind you, I took off the throne. So don’t speak to us of dishonour. When the most dishonourable of us all sits comfortably in King’s Landing, doing a Targaryen’s bidding,” Jaime stops. Lets the words settle. 

And then from another entrance Cersei hears slow claps coming. 

Genna Lannister enters the room. Commanding its attention with it. Cersei is relieved for a moment to see an actual familiar face. 

That idiotic cousin pipes up, “Aunt Genna, we weren’t aware you were returned from your afternoon walk in the gardens.”

“Oh shut up, Tybalt” She says and continues to walk towards Jaime and Cersei. 

“I came straight away when I heard that Tywin’s twins had returned to Casterly Rock. I could hardly believe my ears. And then I’ve been standing outside that door, listening to all that’s been said,” Genna is right in front of them now. 

Suddenly Cersei feels a chill go up her spine. Her Aunt Genna was a woman of no nonsense. She was suddenly certain that she would be the determining fact in Cersei and Jaime’s fate. 

Genna begins, “What they have said is true. Any who know me know that for years I said Tyrion had a head for politics. Unfortunately for us, he has used that head against us. All of us sit in this castle all day and night bemoaning our fate. Tyrion has not come here once to see Casterly Rock, to help us. Cersei and Jaime come here years later, with what I assume is a plan to change that. To reinstate the Lannister name to the glory it knew under Tywin’s name.”

Genna nods at them. She winks so quickly Cersei thinks she might have imagined it. And then Cersei and Jaime look at each other. They have done it. All around the room there are murmurs of ascent. 

But of course there is one last objection, that same cousin, “And if I may ask. What is the plan you speak of?”

Cersei marches right up to where the man is standing, now brimming with confidence, “I’m so glad you ask cousin. Let us see. I have secured us allies in the Starks. I care little if you don’t think the Starks can be trusted” She says reading his expression, “I trust Sansa Stark and that must be enough for you. We are securing allies across the country as I speak to move against the Dragon Queen and her armies. Before you ask, of course I have thought about the threat the dragons themselves pose. I would be an idiot not to. In the meantime we must prepare to move our armies to Riverrun as soon as possible. I do hope you will join us cousin, we could use more men of your… constitution,” She finishes with a wicked grin. Feeling all of the woman she once was.

She feels Jaime behind her now and knows they must look something divine. The golden twins of Casterly Rock returned to save them. A pair of lions, teeth bared. 

And the cousin asks weakly, “And after? Who will care for Casterly Rock when Tyrion is gone.”

Cersei hesitates for only a moment. She sees her Aunt Genna nod out of the corner of her eye and she commits. 

She grabs Jaime’s hand, for all of them to see. Daring anyone in the room to question her. She looks in Jaime’s eye for one moment and he looks as surprised as she feels about her actions. 

“Jaime and I of course. We will rule the Rock together. Tywin’s true heirs.”

And Cersei can’t help but feel that they have already won when people all around the room start cheering their names.

~~~

Theon, as is usual for him now, was up late into the night. In the years since Daenerys had taken the throne, he had been so busy with Yara, supporting her rule, that he was oft kept up dealing with the affairs of the Iron Islands. He cared little for their Dragon Queen, she had done little to help the Iron Islands, striking hard bargains and acting more like a foreign enemy than a ruling monarch. He knew that Yara felt much the same, regretting ever supporting her, but they had been so focused on rebuilding that they had had little time to worry about the Iron Throne.

Yara and him had worked endlessly to restore the Iron Islands to a time of prosperity. They were also eagerly working to turn their people more honourable, the long ingrained traditions were hard to break. But their people respected Yara and this helped with their attempts to change old customs. 

Just as Theon was about to go to bed though he noticed a movement outside his window and when he brought his rapidly dying flame to the frame he realized it was a raven, a raven holding a scroll. Peculiar. 

Ravens usually went straight to the maesters to drop off their letters. He supposed that this one must have just gotten turned around. Stupid bird. 

He opens the window to let it in and to Theon’s surprise he realizes that the bird isn’t stupid. No, he thinks, the bird actually might be exceedingly clever. 

He notices the Stark sigil immediately, perhaps even quicker than most, having grown up in Winterfell and seeing Lord Stark use the family sigil countless times. As he’s untying the letter he can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Him and Sansa corresponded regularly, updating each other on their lives, and of course on behalf of their Kingdoms. Jon sometimes added a line or two onto Sansa’s letters as well, a privilege Theon was still shocked he had earned. Even Bran had written to him a couple of times, and those letters had taken Theon by surprise and were always the hardest to respond back to.

But never had a letter from the Starks arrived in the dead of night to his own bedroom window. 

Before he opened the letter he closed the window, there was a chill creeping in and it didn’t help his anxiousness. The bird remained on his desk, waiting for a potential reply letter. 

Theon flipped the letter over and saw his name written in neat scrawl. He recognized it instantly. Sansa.

He unrolled it and read,

Dearest Theon,

I write to you and your sister only because I have no other choice. The words I will write here are treason and I hope you destroy the letter quickly accordingly. I apologize for not telling you more but you must trust me as implicitly as I did you the day we jumped off the ramparts and escaped Ramsay Bolton. There is no time to spare. Several great houses are making a move against the Dragon Queen, for the love you have of my family I beg your support in this endeavour. It is a matter of life or death, you know the threat the woman poses to the peace and stability of the realm. I wish I could tell you more but it is not worth the risk. Please ready your ships and then meet me with Yara at Riverrun to discuss further plans, I promise I will explain everything once we are all together. 

Truly Yours,  
Sansa Stark

As he read the letter he felt a great breath release from his body. It was as if the world was shifting on its axis again. Like it did the night he chose to betray Robb. Or when he butchered those boys in place of Bran and Rickon. And when Ramsay captured and tortured him. Also the night Yara tried to rescue him. And of course, the first time he saw Sansa again in the courtyard of Winterfell. And on and on, a series of moments in Theon’s life which continue to define and turn his fate. His head spins. 

But he doesn’t hesitate. Sansa said there was no time and he must act quickly. He has to protect them, his family. The Starks. He wouldn’t fail them as he had in the past, they had long forgiven him but it didn’t mean he had forgiven himself. In his mind he would never stop owing them, for losing their family. And he could never repay Sansa for the hurt he had cost her by not intervening with Ramsay sooner. The thought tore at his chest as he pushed his chair back and grabbed his lantern. 

Theon rushes into the hall. They’re predictably empty, nobody, not even the serving staff are out at this time of night. He makes his way to Yara’s chambers, only a few halls over from his own, without meeting anyone. 

He throws open the door, Yara has never been one to lock her chambers and they’ve had no reason to in this time of peace. 

Yara is in bed with some woman, they’re both sleeping and Theon doesn’t bother to check who. One of Yara’s many lovers he assumes.

Before he even opens his mouth Yara stirs and when he calls her name she nearly jumps out of her bed. The woman with her waking now too. 

“Theon, what in seven hells?” Yara looks outraged and confused.

“We’re at war sister,” Theon says solemnly, only just realizing he still has the letter and waving it for her to see. 

“What the fuck is that?” Yara says, pulling on a robe and making her way out of the bed. Leaving her lover wrapped in the blankets looking between the two of them with heightened concern. 

“Sansa,” Theon says and passes the letter to his sister.

But Yara’s eyes widen before she even begins reading, already predicting what is in store for her. 

As she does read it though her face takes on a look of resolution. Every bit the Salt Queen that Theon knows she is. 

Yara looks out her window and Theon is confused for a moment but then she speaks, “I think if we act fast, you and I will be able to sail come dawn. We must make for Riverrun immediately. I will wake our best men now to start readying the ships. Those we trust most.” 

Yara is in full leader mode now and Theon follows suit, making brief plans as the woman in bed watches them silently. 

With plans in place Theon makes to leave, off to do what he can for their quick departure. 

But Yara calls to him, “Theon?”

“Yes,” He says, turning around. 

“You trust her?” Yara asks, with an openness he respects. 

It may have taken them a while to rebuild this trust between them, but now it’s strong. Sturdy. For Yara to read Sansa’s letter and act without hesitation proves that. For her not to be offended that the Lady of Winterfell sent it to him and not her, the ruler of the Iron Islands, shows Yara’s respect for both Theon and Sansa, not allowing her own ego to interfere. So the question doesn’t offend Theon, not in the slightest. She just has to be sure.

And Theon doesn’t have to think about his reply. 

“With my life,” He smiles, “Better, with your life.”

Yara nods at him, “Go, we don’t have time to waste.”

And for the second time that night Theon journeys into the darkened corridors to act on Sansa’s words. 

~~~

It had been a long time since Sansa had let anyone intimidate her and she wasn’t planning to start with Arianne Martell. 

But she wouldn’t lie to herself and say that she wasn’t even the slightest bit nervous. Getting into the palace at Sunspear had been almost too easy. They guards had been almost impassive at Sansa’s request to speak with the leader of their kingdom. They did a brief weapons search and made Brienne leave hers, with a promise of return them when they left. They had been led to a beautiful room half open into a garden area and brought refreshments. Sansa had desperately wanted to have some but had controlled herself, even though there was zero chance they had already realized who she was and had already planned to poison her, she wouldn’t do well to forget what had happened to Myrcella when she was in Dorne. 

And so Sansa waited with Brienne. And if Sansa was nervous, Brienne was beyond anxious and verging on panic.

“Sansa, without my sword and shield I won’t be able to properly defend you. You shouldn’t have let them take them from me, we have weakened ourselves already before even meeting with Lady Martell,” Brienne says while pacing, seemingly on the lookout for anybody about to burst in and murder them on the spot. 

Sansa takes a deep soothing breath. Logically, she knows that if Arianne Martell decides to dispose of them, there will be little either of them will be able to do. Even if Brienne had her sword. And she had discussed as much with Brienne, but this thought did not calm her sworn shield as it had soothed Sansa. 

“We have nothing to fear Brienne. They have treated us with nothing but kindness and respect. Arianne will be here shortly and I’m sure things will go smoothly. We will likely be leaving for Riverrun within three days, though I do wish we could stay and enjoy Dorne more, it’s so different from the North,” Sansa speaks with a confidence and casualty that she doesn’t fully feel, but she does feel the need to calm Brienne before she tackles their hostess the moment she appears. 

Brienne gives Sansa a searching look, as if she doesn’t quite believe her Lady’s casual way of speaking but she entertains the notion anyways, “When all this is over we can come back. With Jon and Cat and your new child as well. It would be a well deserved break after the war ahead. If Arianne is as accommodating as you believe, I’m sure it will be no problem.”

Sansa nods at Brienne and smiles. She allows a silence to settle over the both of them. As they wait Sansa looks out at the vast desert beyond the garden. It’s so different, yet similar to the North. She had packed some of her lightest dresses for the weather but she still felt they were too warm and sweat was starting to slide down her back just from being out in the heat. But in part it comforted her, a direct contrast to the chill that runs up her spine on the cold days of winter. 

As she looks out across the vast expanse she recalls when she was at Castle Black with Jon and he took her up onto the wall. She had always considered herself a Northern daughter, even when she had wanted desperately to go South to the courts, she had Winter in her veins. But until she stood up on the Wall with just Jon, she hadn’t truly appreciated the vastness of their Kingdom. It was sprawling, and one could feel that it went on forever, that if her and Jon had merely walked North and kept going they would find a place away from all of this, somewhere to start new.

It had been a fanciful dream. And Sansa thinks now that she might have fallen in love with Jon then, before it was a conscious thought. When it was forbidden and dangerous to think about (not that it had ever stopped being dangerous, not really), but they had been quiet up on the wall, looking out across the fields of snow and then Jon had told her. 

“They killed me, my brothers. Just before you arrived. Melisandre, the damn red woman, she brought me back from the dead,” Jon had said out of nowhere, looking straight ahead into the biting wind.

Sansa had sucked in a sharp inhale. She had known that something had happened but this revelation was enough to shake her to the core, “Jon…”

“It’s okay. I just wanted you to know. It’s why I was so downtrodden when you arrived. It put a bit of a damper on things for me the last little bit,” Jon says, almost embarrassed now and trying to lighten the mood. 

“And now?” Sansa asks, “Are you okay now?”

Jon looks at her with an inscrutable look that plagued Sansa for many moons afterwards, “Now I have you Sansa, you rode into Castle Black and I realized why she brought me back… for you.” 

Sansa had wished to say a million things to Jon in that instance but her voice failed her. So, instead she let the silence settle between them and they had stood there at the edge of the world and a fire had started between them then, in the middle of the icy north, that they had yet to put out. 

Coming out of her reverie, Sansa considers the Dornish desert before her. Yes, she decides, not unlike the North at all. Contrasts of the same idea, equally dangerous, equally beautiful. 

But before Sansa can contemplate the desert any further she hears the door behind them open and she whirls around in an instant. 

Entering the room is Arianne Martell. Obviously, it is who she expected but she can hardly believe the moment has come.

Arianne seems to freeze before she can fully close the door. It gives Sansa a moment to consider the woman. She is profoundly beautiful. Her dark brown skin complements her black hair and makes her eyes pop. She is a bit older than Sansa but still youthful. She wears a red dress in the traditional dornish style that accentuates her body in all the right places. She is a woman that commands a presence. Not unlike Sansa herself, she muses for a moment. Sansa knows that when she walks into the great hall of Winterfell that everyone pauses for a moment and takes her in. She has no doubt the same phenomenon happens for Arianne Martell. 

And currently Arianne Martell is perfect for studying. She still has one hand reached back, half closing the door. Her dress sways lightly around her from the sudden stop in motion. Her eyes have gone wide and her mouth has formed a perfect little ‘O’. Her lips start to tremble and she whispers something out. 

“Sansa Stark,” she says, disbelieving. 

And the moment is gone, she closes the door behind her and strides across the room. 

“Whatever are you doing here?” Arianne is only feet away from her now and has to force herself to stop. 

“Lady Martell,” Sansa says, giving her head a bow and showing all the courtesy she can. She notices Brienne bow as well from the corner of her eye, “Thank you so much for coming to see me so quickly. I apologize for not letting your guards know who I was. I figured it better to be safe than sorry and allow you the discretion of who you can trust in your service.”

Arianne’s eyes narrow slightly and Sansa worries she has misstepped already, “I trust all in my service. And you haven’t answered my question Lady Stark, what brings you all the way to Dorne. It is not a short journey from Winterfell.”

Arianne moves then, taking a seat and making herself comfortable. She gestures to other chairs for Brienne and Sansa to take. Sansa seats herself directly across from Arianne but Brienne remains standing out of respect. 

“Again, allow me to apologize. I know we don’t know each other well, having only met during a very stressful time for the both of us. But I believed you someone to be trusted even from our short acquaintance,” Sansa begins but Arianne stops her. 

“No need for flattery Sansa,” Arianne rolls her eyes, “We got on of course. And I wasn’t going to let the lords bully you out of Winterfell when it was rightfully yours just because you are a woman. So yes, I defended you, we bonded, even the beginnings of a friendship I would wager, but we have not seen each other since. Any communication between us has been purely political, so please explain yourself.” 

Sansa can tell Brienne is tense but Arianne’s straightforwardness actually puts her at ease. She spent so long surrounded by people who wouldn’t say what they meant and tried to make every conversation a game, that it is a relief to be with someone who wants only the truth. 

And so what comes out of her mouth next isn’t eloquent or carefully chosen but it is exactly that, the truth. 

“Daenerys Targaryen is a tyrant. I think you are an intelligent woman, and that isn’t me using flattery, it is a fact and I think you have the brains to realize that if allowed to continue to rule she will drive all the Kingdoms into the ground. Her dragons pose an ongoing threat and it is our responsibility to protect Westeros from her,” Sansa says without breaking eye contact with Arianne. 

Arianne holds the gaze for a moment longer then lets out a low whistle. 

“I can’t believe it took you this long,” Arianne whispers again. 

“What?” Sansa asks, taken aback. 

“Oh don’t play naive Sansa. Everyone knew the two of you hated each other, most would say it was the wedge of Jon Snow but anyone with brains knew it went deeper than that. In principal you’re fundamentally different people, you are honourable and she is not. When I was in the capital I found out that she wasn’t creating any trade relationship or any relationship whatsoever with the North. That was quite some time ago and I’ve been waiting since then, assuming you wouldn’t stand for it,” Arianne smirks. 

“The North has never needed Daenerys’ help,” Sansa says a bit defensively, “I care little if she offers others things she doesn’t to our kingdom. The less I have to think about her the better.”

“Ahh,” Arianne says knowingly, “That Northern pride.”

Sansa doesn’t say anything but she raises her head a little, juts her chin. Daring Arianne to challenge her. She likes Arianne more than she realized, there’s no mincing meaning between them.

“So what changed?” Arianne asks. 

Sansa steadies her breath then, “Cersei Lannister has returned to Westeros, her brother Jaime and their children in tow.”

At this Arianne’s jaw drops open. 

“You… of all people… have aligned with the Lannister woman? Now that does surprise me,” Arianne looks stunned. 

“She is…” Sansa pauses, “changed.”

Arianne considers this. 

“Well, you would know. Better than most I assume.”

Sansa nods. 

“And you trust them Ser Brienne?” Arianne asks, suddenly addressing Brienne for the first time. 

Brienne is surprised but recovers quickly, “Of course, I trust my Lady’s judgement implicitly.”

“Not the question I asked. I believe you trust Sansa. But do you trust them, the Lannister twins?” Arianne pushes, shaking her head, and Sansa is shocked by the woman’s perceptiveness. 

“My Lady, with fear of being rude, why does it matter what I think of them?” Brienne asks apprehensively. 

Arianne doesn’t hesitate, “Because I know quite a bit about you and your story Ser Brienne. You are an honourable woman who’s judgement I trust and respect.”

This statement alone is enough to make Sansa commit to Arianne fully. A ruler who can respect those who serve them and even more to want their judgement and input, is someone who can be trusted. 

Brienne is quiet, and Sansa realizes suddenly that she wants to know the answer of the question as well. 

Brienne starts slowly, “Ser Jaime is a good man, I have known him a long time and would trust him with my life. Cersei is difficult, she has done heinous things, nobody will deny it. But I cannot deny either that she is not the same woman the Seven Kingdoms knew years ago. Essos has changed her and she is better for it. So, no, I don’t trust her fully. But I trust Sansa. And I think that Cersei has an opportunity to prove herself now and she just may yet,” Brienne says with such eloquence it brings a tear to Sansa’s eye. 

“Thank you Ser Brienne, that was well said,” Arianne returns her gaze to Sansa. 

“So what does Cersei hope to gain at the end of this,” Arianne inquires. 

“She wants the Rock, to rule it with Jaime. Not an unreasonable request I think,” Sansa says.

Arianne seems confused, “Then who does she expect to sit the Iron Throne with Daenerys dead,” she is not quite believing that Cersei wouldn’t want it for herself. 

And at this Sansa is sheepish. She had hoped to avoid this part of the discussion. But she steels herself. 

“Uh, that would be, well. Myself. And Jon,” Sansa can’t keep Arianne’s eye. 

But Arianne lets out a ferocious laugh. 

“Oh, I’m so stupid. Yes, it is the obvious solution of course. Jon’s Targaryen heritage gives him the claim and your political prowess, an unstoppable match. Cersei is still as quick as ever, even if she is using her powers for good now,” Arianne finishes with a smile. 

“You don’t think that it’s a little… well presumptuous, to come and ask you in aiding me to secure a throne that I have no right to,” Sansa asks, still embarrassed. 

Arianne rolls her eyes, “You’d be a hell of a sight better than Daenerys. When I was in the capital I warned her about you and Jon. Don’t get me wrong, I did wish not to start her on the warpath but I wished to see if she would take me at all seriously. Any monarch should see the threat you two pose and either take you out or work to secure your allyship. But she’s too self absorbed to see past her dragons.”

“And Dorne, Dorne would be loyal to us on the throne?” Sansa asks, a bit disbelieving. 

“I believe you and Jon would rule well. I would love an independent Dorne as I’m sure you would love an independent North. But I don’t think the Kingdoms are ready for that,” Arianne says. 

“Me either,” And there’s regret in Sansa’s voice, “But Jon and I, we would work towards more independence. Work with the Kingdoms to help them gain self sufficiency while providing what they need. We don’t want to be dictative.”

Arianne pushes her chair back and places her hands on the table, “That is why you will be better monarchs than the Dragon Queen.”

Sansa lets herself smile. This has been easier than she ever hoped. 

“So how does it stand now who do we have?”

“Well, Dorne and the North obviously. The wildlings will join us as well. I sent ravens to the Greyjoys and to the Vale. I count on them both. Riverrun will be our meeting ground and the Tullys will join without question, it is where my brother Bran is now. Arya and Gendry are at Storm's End securing the Stormlands. And Cersei and Jaime are at Casterly Rock,” Sansa finishes. 

Arianne says slowly, “So, basically everyone but the Tyrells and the Dragon Queen herself?”

“Well yes,” Sansa says, a little bit pridefully.

“And have you considered her dragons?” Ariane asks. 

Sansa glances at Brienne but Brienne looks away. 

She says begrudgingly, “We have a plan for the dragons.”

Arianne just raises her eyebrows and then, “You don’t do things halfway.”  
“No, not as a rule,” Sansa concedes. 

Arianne leans across the table, “I’ve always admired you. From the first time we met at the negotiations. But even before that. Your tales of woe reached far across the Seven Kingdoms and I couldn’t fathom all you had been through.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says with a hint of shock, it’s a turn in conversation she wasn’t expecting.

“My father raised me as his heir, even when I didn’t always realize that was what he was doing, he was. He had faith in me as a woman to lead Dorne and to have us prosper. But the North, the rest of Westeros, is different and I knew you hadn’t had that engrained in you. You were raised to be a wife first and a ruler second. When I heard that your bastard brother, as he was thought at the time, held the North instead of you, I thought it was the deepest of slights—”

“Jon didn’t take that from me, he would’ve given it to me at the time if I asked. I was happy to have him as our King,” Sansa says defensively.

“I don’t mean to suggest otherwise. But what I mean is that then when I met you I realized it was no slight. Whether you realized it or not it was strategic. When I met you I realized that the true strength of the North resided in you, you hadn’t needed anyone to tell you you could be a Queen, you had made yourself one all on your own. And by hiding you away behind Jon’s title, you successfully underplayed your own power until the right moment, it let Daenerys and her advisors underestimate you until it was too late. And they do it all again now,” Arianne says with a hint of a smile. 

Sansa is too stunned to speak. She feels her cheeks heating up at the compliment, she thinks it’s more kindness than she perhaps deserves. 

“Arianne… When you defended me in front of everyone, saying that I could rule just as you did in Dorne, I thought that I could’ve lost the North if not for your intervention then,” Sansa says quietly. 

She sees Brienne glance at her, at the admission she had never admitted. 

“Ridiculous, you would’ve had the North with or without my support,” Arianne brushes it off.

“Still, thank you. I admire you as well, you rule Dorne all on your own and for that I applaud you. I have Jon’s help and half the time I think we are failing our people. But things here seem so in order, so calm,” it’s Sansa’s turn to return the compliment. 

Arianne just continues to smile at her. 

“I will support you in this war Lady Stark, and I will support you and Jon on the Iron Throne if we make it that far. For a better Westeros,” Arianne stands and reaches to grip Sansa’s arm in a show of allegiance. 

Sansa reciprocates and as they stand in this room in the middle of Sunspear, Sansa can feel hope bloom in her chest. Hope that they will succeed and that they will make it out of this war intact. With Arianne Martell’s support and the rest of their allies they just might do it. But then Sansa remembers the dragons and her heart drops. It is always the dragons in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic keeps taking me places I didn't even realize I was going. I was writing and suddenly Meera Reed shows up! Who knew. Also, a small inconsistency I need to note. I realized that I mentioned Podrick in passing and haven't brought him up since then. So lets pretend that he was otherwise occupied while everyone planned at Winterfell because I love my boy and had to bring him back for this chapter when I realized my mistake :) Also, I do realize the way things went down at Casterly Rock may be quite well...optimistic lol, but I just needed it to work out for the sake of the fic and I do think that the Lannisters at large would be resentful to Tyrion and willing to overlook Cersei's past for their own benefit. Lastly, the scene with Arianne and Sansa was so fun for me to write, I love them both and hope you enjoyed that scene (it was 3K alone, upping the word count quite a bit haha).
> 
> Drop a comment if you enjoyed it and I will be back with another chapter next week!


	12. what a feeling to be a king beside you, somehow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess my update day has changed to Mondays haha. And this is another monster chapter, over 10K!! I swear idk how this keeps happening, blame COVID. Also this chapter is fully Sansa's perspective which I hope you enjoy! I know you all love my girl as much as I do :)

All in all, Sansa was pleased with the way things had proceeded. Arianne’s quick acceptance and dedication to the war had put her at ease and as Riverrun came into view over the hills she dearly hoped that everyone else had been as successful as her in securing their allies. Of course that thought was equally worrying. They’d be at war in less than a fortnight if that was true. And even though she wouldn’t be on the battlefield, nearly everyone she loved would be and she would be near at hand anyway. Close enough that if something went wrong she could be in danger. 

Sansa adjusted herself in the saddle and tried to put the thought out of her mind. The sooner they could finish the war the sooner she could be reunited with Cat. And oh how she missed her daughter. It had been just over a month since she departed Winterfell and she was starting to find the ache was just a dull and constant buzz in the corner of her mind instead of an all consuming ferocious longing; she couldn’t decide which was worse.

“Riverrun is more impressive than I thought it would be, the architecture is superb,” Arianne says from her horse.

Arianne travelling with them to Riverrun had been the only thing she hadn’t accounted for. She had brought a small retinue of Dornish advisors with her but had insisted on being at the meetings at Riverrun and said she would double back to her Dornish forces if necessary, blazing through the battlefield if need be. 

Arianne had seemed to have implicit trust in her forces and when Sansa had explained that they planned to have Dorne and the Stormlands join up to mount a front from the South, effectively trapping and limiting Daenerys, she had not hesitated to say that she would leave that to her commanders and that she herself could be more use in Riverrun, at least for the time being. 

It hadn’t been something Sansa had tried to fight her on, her logic was sound and she thinks she would want the same as Arianne if she was in her position but the level of trust was nothing short of remarkable. 

And so they had sent letters off to Edric letting him know about their plans and had made their way to Riverrun, once again disguising themselves and staying off the main roads. 

“I must admit, part of me longs for Riverrun, the North is in my heart but I think fish swim in my veins. I blame my mother, being here makes me feel closer to her,” Sansa remarks. 

Her, Arianne, and Brienne had fallen into easy conversations over their return trip and she felt a friendship blossoming that she was thankful for despite the wretched circumstances. 

Arianne and Brienne both shoot Sansa a sympathetic look at her comment about her mother and they ride on in silence until they reach the castle. 

Taking the less travelled road, much had been hidden to them but as they arrive it is obvious that there are signs of forces everywhere. The Tully and Riverlands forces are busy in the courtyards and surrounding the castle. In the near distance she sees several different camps set up, meaning that hopefully all the forces that they wished for have arrived. 

As the three of them, followed by Arianne’s close advisors, trot into the courtyard several heads turn towards them. 

“Sansa!” She hears her name being yelled but can’t tell by who. 

Just as she has dismounted her horse she is engulfed in a bone crushing hug. 

“It’s so good to see you niece! We have been awaiting your arrival eagerly,” Edmure releases her from the bind and grins down at her. 

He appears invigorated, hyped up on the energy around them. The impending war. He is clearly thriving. 

“Thank you, Uncle,” Sansa smiles at him, “All your help here is so appreciated, using Riverrun makes the most sense but I understand the drain it must be having on you. After all this is over we will be sure to help you recover.”

She says this on the off chance that nobody else has offered him the same assurance but she can tell by his quick nod and brush off that Bran has been thorough. 

“Don’t worry about that now,” Edmure says and then notices her companions, “Ser Brienne, Lady Martell. It is a pleasure to have you here, glad to see that we have a friend in Dorne.”

Arianne smiles with her teeth, baring the slightest resemblance to the vipers of her house, “There is no risk too great to free us from tyrants, we Martells will not break so easily.”

Edmure nods in agreement and then turns back to Sansa. 

“The Lannister twins arrived a few hours ago. Their forces reside to the Southwest, a half days ride, on the edges of the Reach. If the Tyrells mount a front they will see them from far off and I know the Dornish and the Stormland forces will come that way as well, your sister Arya has assured us that Gendry and Edric will have the forces ready,” Edmure says. 

The phrasing makes her raise an eyebrow, “Gendry is not here?”

“No, he has remained with Edric from what your sister has told me,” Edmure says, a bit of confusion seeping in at Sansa’s expression. 

Sansa shares the briefest glance with Brienne. They both know that whatever reason he has for staying is not good for her sister, but she lets it drop with her Uncle, she’ll find Arya later. 

“I just assumed he would be here, no trouble. Any word from the others?” She gets back to the task at hand. 

“The Arryns arrived last night, they have camped out not far from the castle, you likely saw their tents on your way in. Jon arrived with the Northmen two days ago and the wildlings not far behind. They’re camped a bit north of here, not far off at all. The only ones we haven’t heard from are the Greyjoys,” And Sansa can tell her Uncle tries to hide his worry at that. 

The Tullys did not have the best history with the Greyjoys despite the peace they had now under the rule of Theon and Yara. And Sansa cannot deny that no word from them worries her as well. Perhaps the letter went astray? They’re so nearby, they should definitely be here by now. But she must have faith. Theon won’t fail her. 

“Theon will come,” Sansa says with a certain pride in one of her dearest friends. 

But before anyone can reply, movement across the courtyard catches her attention. 

She looks up and there is her family. Arya is pushing Bran in his chair and Jon is striding towards them at their side. She can’t help it, her face breaks out in a smile and she is racing across the courtyard like a young girl. 

She collides with Jon first and just takes a moment to breathe him in. She’s well aware that those around them have stopped to watch their reunion, and she’s reminded of the other times they have reunited like this. Once in the midst of Daenerys' watchful eye and once when it seemed as if they were the last two souls alive in the world, snow falling gently. 

This reunion is much more light hearted than either of those though. 

“Took you long enough,” Jon breathes into her hair. 

“My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting love. I’ll make sure to take the short way back from Dorne next time” Sansa teases, but she can’t keep the joy out of her voice. 

“Oh be sure you do,” Jon grins. 

She pulls back and kisses Jon once, softly and chastely, no need for a scene in the middle of Riverrun but she has missed him so. 

They part and he searches her face, asks in a hushed whisper, “The babe?”

Even though she knows Bran and Arya themselves would be lucky to hear his question and they are right next to them, she can’t help but have her eyes dart around. Nobody here needs to know, not yet, when she is still so early and there are so many other things to worry about. 

“Safe and healthy I hope, there haven’t been any concerns,” She says and she can tell he lets out a sigh of relief. 

She quickly turns to Bran and Arya. She embraces them both and feels safe here, with the three of them surrounding her. Their journeys have brought them all together again and she knows the path ahead is dangerous but in this moment of reunion she is just happy. 

And Sansa can’t help herself, she has to know “Gendry remained in Storm’s End?” She raises an eyebrow at Arya. 

Arya, to her credit, doesn’t even blush, knowing the question was coming, “Later,” she says with a casualness that Sansa sees through immediately. 

“I too would like to speak with you later Sansa,” Bran says in a neutral tone. 

All three of them look at him in surprise but she agrees with Bran anyways. 

Edmure, Brienne and Arianne have made their way over before she can think much more on Bran’s request. Seeming to think that they have given the family enough privacy and that there are things that must be dealt with. 

“As much as I hate to break all of this up, we all do have things to be doing and there is a meeting supposed to be happening between the heads of our forces quite soon if we want to make our way inside,” Edmure says, adopting the role of host seamlessly. 

The seven of them all turn to head into the castle but a voice stops them. 

“Oi! Starks! Wait up will you?”

A voice she thinks she recognizes. All of them turn on the spot. And once again Sansa feels her face break out in a smile. 

There in the entryway to the courtyard stand Theon and Yara. Appearing as if they came straight from the Iron Islands, they seem to exude a certain dampness. But she would have it no other way. 

Theon and Yara are over to them in moments and Theon hugs Sansa first. She laughs into it, so surprised and happy to see him.

“I knew I could count on you Theon,” She says when they let go. 

“I’ll never let you down again Sansa,” He says with a seriousness that Sansa thinks is unwarranted but she nods all the same. 

Theon and Yara both embrace them all in turn and there are a few minutes of catching up before the talk turns to the war. 

“You promised more details once we were all together Sansa,” Theon chastises.

She sighs, “Where are your forces?”

“We have the ships readied awaiting our word but we also brought those men we could spare as a small foot army. They’re camped out with the others outside the castle now,” Yara responds.

Sanas nods, “Good. I think your men will be best used if they come around to Blackwater Bay, eliminating any Naval response from the capital. And we greatly appreciate any additional foot soldiers.”

“And? What is the plan?” Theon asks impatiently. 

Sansa prepares herself, “The Lannisters are here, Cersei and Jaime I mean.”

She lets that land. Theon looks nonplussed as usual but she sees Yara take in a deep breath, not quick to forget that the woman had her kidnapped. 

“You don’t have to love it but you have to get along for the sake of the realm. If there were another way I would take it. But the Lannisters have a well trained substantial army and I do trust Jaime and Cersei. They’re not the same twins Westeros once knew,” Sansa says steadily. 

Yara doesn’t challenge her and she is grateful. 

“I’m sure if the Martells and the Lannisters can put aside their differences then so can the Greyjoys,” Arianne says and Sansa realized she had nearly forgotten the woman was there. She had been so quiet and reserved in the wake of the Stark and Greyjoy reunion. 

All eyes turn to her and Sansa notices that Theon’s eyes widen. 

“Arianne Martell?” He asks with his mouth only hanging open slightly.

“The very same,” She says as her lips curl up slightly into a smirk. 

“Wipe the drool off your lip will you Greyjoy?” Jon says from Sansa’s side and she knocks his shoulder, let them be, she thinks. 

Edmure mercifully chooses that moment to intercede, “We really should be getting inside everyone. There is much to discuss.” 

And this time he succeeds in getting them into the castle without any unexpected interruptions. 

~~~

As it turns out, discussions will be put on pause. Davos, Tormund, and Podrick were out at the Northern encampment. Cersei and Jaime were nowhere to be found. And Yohn Royce and Robin had gone out to the Arryn encampment to deal with some dispute among their men. 

So instead they had been shown to their temporary rooms, served an early dinner or maybe a late lunch , and given explicit instructions that they would all meet to discuss things later that evening when everyone had returned and they could also have the major lords from the armies present as well. 

Her and Jon had talked only briefly and it had put her at ease somewhat, just being in his presence again. But Jon had felt the need to go out to the encampment to fetch Pod, Tormund, and Davos himself, Northern duty as strong as ever despite the fact that she could plainly tell he wished to be with her instead. 

So she had been left alone. She had luxuriated in a bath drawn by the attendants but Jon still wasn’t back so she had readied herself and planned to go check in on Bran and Arya. 

To her surprise though, when she opened the door to her chambers there were already people outside. 

Bran and Meera Reed, right outside, poising themselves to knock. 

“Lady Stark,” Meera gives her a nod. 

“Hello Sansa,” Bran says and gestures for Meera to push him into the room. 

Sansa backs up and gives them room to enter and as they do she examines her brother, the only brother that remains to her. 

Sometimes, Sansa thinks, that despite all her and the Starks have gone through, that Bran is the most changed of them all. The trauma endured from his time as the Three Eyed Raven lingers. And he was so young. So, so young. Of course they were all young. But Sansa thinks of Bran, leagues North of the wall, no clue what he is chasing, and she feels a chill go through her body. He had to depend on his companions for so much since he lost the use of his legs and he had been so brave, sacrificed so much to help save the rest of them. Sansa’s own traumas seem to wither in comparison, which she knows is ridiculous. 

“Bran,” She nods and goes to find a seat, “Meera, I didn’t realize that you were here. It is good to see you again.”

Sansa knows that the history between Bran and Meera is something she might never fully understand. She has gleaned scraps of information from the stories that Bran told her. The lone two survivors of a journey so perilous that there will always be a link there. But she also realizes that Bran’s transformation fractured something for them and she’s never put a finger on it. There’s love there, that much is obvious, the form uncertain but present. The love doesn’t cancel out the obvious hurt and pain though, layers of it as far as Sansa can tell. 

She notices that Bran is about to speak but Meera cuts across him as she grabs her own seat at the table. 

“I was here when your brother arrived to tell Edmure we were going to war. I returned home to rally the Crannogmen at once and bring them here,” Meera says matter of factly. 

Sansa is slightly perplexed, “We would’ve sent a letter to the Crannogmen as well as all Northerners… The Reeds and Starks are old friends.”

“Meera thought it best to return home despite this, to help prepare them. When she did they were already heading to Riverrun,” Bran says.

The look shared between Bran and Meera is heavy with meaning. Something Sansa can’t decipher but she thinks there’s a taste of resentment there. Of bitterness on Bran’s part maybe? She can’t quite tell. But it makes her happy. Since the Long Night when the spell, as she thinks of it, of the Three Eyed Raven, broke. Her brother has never quite returned to normal but this display of an all too human emotion brings her some comfort, some sense that Bran is more Bran than he might have been the last time she saw him. 

Sansa decides to let the topic drop and addresses Bran instead. 

“What was it you needed to discuss, brother? You made it sound important earlier, I didn’t realize that it involved Meera as well.”

She doesn’t mean it to sound rude. She liked Meera, she really did. She had wished desperately that Meera had been there in the aftermath of Bran breaking free after the Long Night, that maybe this strange woman would have insights that she didn’t. That she could help Bran lingering between conscious and not, the sweats and chills that wracked his frame. But Meera had been long gone, and despite that love they shared, neither had seen or spoke of the other in years. So, her being here now, in what she thought was a private conversation, is perplexing and unexpected. 

“I returned last night with the Crannogmen, and Bran sought me out right away. Not knowing who else to talk to about this issue. I convinced him that he needed to tell you as soon as you returned,” Meera gives Bran a long look. 

And to Sansa’s surprise Bran looks worried. Every bit the boy he was when their mother would scold him for climbing Winterfell’s walls. And that memory hurts more than she wished it does, thinking of everything taken from Bran because of something he had loved so dearly. 

Bran almost, fidgets. He is clearly avoiding what it is that he must say and Sansa can hardly believe it, unused to this behaviour in the brother she knows now.

“Tell me what?” Sansa asks in a soft voice. 

And Bran steadies himself, responds, “My visions… they have been returning in pieces for the last few weeks. But they are changed. I have no control in them, I cannot search things out as I once did. And they are largely nonsensical. I don’t think that we should put so much faith in them.”

Meera lets out a huff of breath. Sansa can tell Bran is trying to minimize the revelation but it still shakes Sansa. Is it possible for him to turn once more into that cold unfeeling man he was when they reunited in Winterfell? When he has already lost so much? She turns to Meera, to gauge her reaction. 

“Is that possible?” Sansa asks, fear seeping in.

Meera looks pensive, “The magic of the Three Eyed Raven is old. So much of it is unknown, but yes I would say it is possible. As Bran has said, things are different this time, he is not the same as he once was. It is my belief that the visions now are trying to reach out, to warn him.”

Meera’s face is set in a hard line and she can tell that despite trying to hide it, Meera cares for Bran, and shares Sansa’s worries for him. 

“Warn him against what?” She says, though she fears the answer, “What are you seeing?”

With this she turns to her brother but she sees Meera’s eyes harden and that she gives her brother a slight, almost imperceptible, nod. 

And Bran still looks worried, “You, mostly. Like I said it’s unclear.”

The blood drains from Sansa’s face. Her?

“Bran,” Meera sounds warning, “Tell her the rest or I will.”

And then Bran starts again, sounding exhausted in the truth, “I don’t know Sansa. I see you in places I don’t recognize. Maybe I would recognize them if I was still the Three Eyed Raven, maybe not. But yes mostly it’s you. All I know is that you are alone in them, sometimes you look fearful, sometimes resolved, occasionally you cry. It could mean nothing, it could mean something, although I have my doubts about that. Meera told me I had an obligation to tell you, but I don’t want you to worry, for me or yourself.”

And somehow, despite his words, Sansa is less worried for herself than she is for her brother. She wants the visions to stop, to be able to protect him. She can see in his face how the heaviness of this weighs on him. 

“And the end, Bran. All of it,” Meera prods and Sansa turns to her, confused.

Bran turns back to his sister. Pierces Sansa with a gaze that makes her go cold, “Fire. All the visions end in fire.”

Oh. Oh, Sansa thinks. Well that isn’t as hard to parse out. There is one thing in this world that always ends in fire, Daenerys’ preferred method of execution. And now, Sansa does fear for herself, in a way she hasn’t for a very long time.

“But you think it could mean nothing?” She asks, maybe a bit naively.

Meera squints, “You’re smarter than that Sansa. The visions were never perfect but Bran recognizes them, they’re not just a dream. They are trying to tell him something. And the fire… well it is nothing good.”

It’s Bran’s silence at this, his lack of dissent or argument that seals it for her. Bran believes Meera’s words but tried to downplay his fear for Sansa’s sake. It breaks her heart a bit, her brother trying to protect his big sister when he knows she has so much going on beyond this. But she is grateful that he told her anyways, she needed to know.

“Not a word. Not to anyone else. Not Arya. Not Jon. This doesn’t leave the three of us,” She slips on a mask that she hasn’t had a chance to wear in a while. She is willing to do whatever she can to protect her family and she knows if Jon and Arya knew this… they would be reckless, make mistakes. Or they would try and send her back to Winterfell, away from all this. It’s not worth the risk. 

And so she looks at Bran and Meera in turn. They have a sad resignation on their faces and she knows that they are as good at keeping a secret as she is after her years of duplicity. She trusts in their silence. Lucky that Bran isn’t as protective as the others.

The two of them make to leave and as they stand on the threshold of the door she speaks again.

“If there’s anything else, if something changes. Tell me immediately,” Sansa says.

They both turn to look at her, nod in unison. 

“Thank you Bran, Meera. I’m glad you told me,” Sansa replies. 

Bran just looks at her sadly, “It might mean nothing.” 

And they’re gone. Closing the door behind them. But the Red Wolf of Winterfell knows. It doesn’t mean nothing, it might mean everything, but not nothing. And if fire is coming for her she knows how to fight back, feeling the ice course through her veins.

~~~

In Bran’s absence, Sansa finds herself staring out the window. She has visited Riverrun before, and as she said to Arianne, it connects her to her mother, in a way that makes her mournful for the future that was taken from them. At a time like this she can’t help but wonder what her mother would think of her now. Of all she had done, accomplished. Of the woman she had become. She would no doubt be proud, but would she always approve?

Upon finding out about Jon’s parentage it had struck her hard that her mother never knew. That if she had she would have regretted her treatment of Jon during their childhood. She knew her mother well enough to know this is true. She doesn’t excuse her mother’s indifference, but she knows it could’ve been worse. That Catelyn tried to make the best of a bad situation. No, it’s her father to blame on that front. 

She had often wondered why he had never confided in her mother. There were a thousand possibilities, all equally likely. But she thinks, knowing her father, he would have seen it as his duty to endure that burden alone, not drag down others, especially his wife. 

Not unlike Sansa herself right now, she thinks. She won’t regret her decision to conceal Bran’s visions from Jon. She can’t afford to think like that. But something pricks at the back of her mind that history is repeating itself, it all starts with a simple omission, and spirals from there. 

Yes, she had no doubt that Catelyn’s resentment for Jon would be non-existent if she had known the truth. But would she approve him as a match for Sansa? She hoped so. She hoped that she would’ve been able to see the man he had become, the goodness in him that so few seem to have. She’s lucky, to have found him in all this, to have him now. Their life together is the most precious thing to her now, and she must fight for them both. For their daughter Cat and the baby yet to come. 

Sansa, lost in thought and still staring out the window into Riverrun below, doesn’t hear the light knock on her door. Not the first time. 

The second time she snaps out of it but it still takes her a moment to respond. The knocker is in the middle of their third rap when she finds her voice.

“Come in,” She says. 

The door creaks open to reveal Cersei Lannister. Sansa inhales. Lets it out slowly. After Bran’s visit she thinks her patience is wearing thin. What is it with everyone needing to talk to her at this exact moment? She wishes Jon would just return. 

Cersei is as pristine as ever. She is dressed in a deep red crimson, typical of the Lannisters. Her hair is curling loosely, not as long as it was when they were both in King’s Landing but falling over her breasts. Her hands are clasped in front of her as she lets the door swing shut behind her. 

“Sansa,” Cersei begins, “I’m glad to see you are well and arrived swiftly.”

Since their conversation prior to departing Winterfell, Sansa has grown increasingly conflicted about her relationship to Cersei. There had been vulnerability, on both sides, and the territory was yet uncharted. She didn’t know if she would ever fully trust her but she felt they had a mutual understanding. 

“You too Cersei, please come sit,” Sansa says and gestures to the chair that Meera Reed sat in not half an hour before. 

“What can I do for you?” Sansa asks, wasting no time. 

Cersei hesitates. Her expression slips for one moment into one of nervousness and Sansa catches it. Interesting. 

“I hoped to speak with you before the meeting tonight, there will be so many people and I thought that it was important to fill you in on my own journey,” Cersei says.

It takes Sansa by surprise, the consideration Cersei is taking with this, it is by no means necessary and she wouldn’t have batted an eye if Cersei didn’t come to her at all. 

She continues, “I wanted to thank you first. Your men were more than adequate in their mission and we couldn’t have done it without them. And I apologized to them but I will apologize to you as well. They had to be taken captive for a short time upon our arrival as I’m sure someone will tell you all about later.”

“Captive?” Sansa asks, intrigued now. 

Cersei almost smirks, “The Lannister flock were less than enthused upon our arrival but I brought them around to the cause.”

Cersei cannot keep the pride out of her voice. 

“Tywin should’ve believed in you sooner,” Sansa says and lets herself smile, conspiratorial, at this woman who she loathed not so long ago. 

Cersei’s eyes widen. It’s not the response she was expecting. 

“Thank you, that means a lot,” Cersei says in a rare show of embarrassment. 

“How were the Lannisters? Did it take you long to negotiate?” Sansa inquires.

Cersei scoffs, “Oh, idiotic as ever. I think they might have brought us to King’s Landing themselves if not for the interception of our Aunt Genna. She always had brains. It’s like they didn’t have the capacity to fight for themselves. Tyrion has been blowing them off for years and they actually needed convincing to change that? Incredible.”

“People grow complacent,” Sansa replies neutrally. 

Cersei nods and smooths out her skirt, seemingly coming to the point of this sudden conversation. But when the words come out Sansa can tell she diverted again at the last moment. 

“Are you okay with our plan in regards to the dragons, the risk Jon is going to undertake?” 

Sansa tenses. 

“I hardly have a choice Cersei,” She says through gritted teeth. 

“If there was another way…” Cersei trails off. 

“If there was another way Jon would still insist on doing it because that is the man he is, he will risk his life for the rest of us because he is good-hearted and wouldn’t send someone off to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself,” Sansa says, suddenly fierce. 

“You’re right,” Cersei says, “I’m sorry though, I wish he could stay with you. Help put your mind at ease. Gods know I’ll do everything in my power to keep Jaime here.”

Sansa narrows her eyes at that. It was Cersei’s suggestion to send Jon after the dragons and now she wants to keep Jaime off the battlefield? Typical, she thinks. Traces of the Cersei she knew still remain. 

“During the Battle of the Bastards,” Sansa pauses, collects herself and continues, “I never told Jon the Knights of the Vale were coming. I couldn’t be sure that Littlefinger would prevail, it was a risk. And in the moment they arrived, Jon’s eyes locked with mine across a vast battlefield and even though I knew that help was coming, I felt like my world was ending. If I had lost him… I don’t know that I would have survived that.”

The silence seems to ring around them. 

“Jaime,” Cersei’s voice is quiet, hoarse, “He tried to kill one of Daenerys’ dragons. I’m sure you heard, was nearly burnt alive all but for that idiot Bronn who saved his life. The thought of Jaime doing something like that again, it’s unbearable. Our children, Sansa, while their father’s risk their lives… ”

“The burden of women like us,” And Sansa wishes she had a glass of wine to toast their sorrows. 

“I imagine it won’t be unlike the night of the Battle of the Blackwater,” Cersei sighs.

“I hope you intend to be much more sober than you were that night,” Sansa says with raised eyebrows. 

And Cersei laughs, high and almost delirious. 

“Well you will be anyways,” Cersei says, “Assuming the babe is still alright?”

Cersei glances at Sansa’s stomach, still not showing and she is momentarily stunned. She had almost forgotten that Cersei had known about the pregnancy. So few people did. It was still early. 

“Yes, I think so. I’ll have a maester check on everything tomorrow. But it seems to be much the same as when I had Cat,” Sansa says and she is surprised that Cersei seemed to genuinely care about the answer, as if she truly worried for Sansa and her child’s health. 

“Good, I’m glad,” Cersei muses and she is suddenly distracted again. 

Sansa doesn’t say anything. She allows Cersei to prepare herself, she can feel that it’s on the verge of spilling out, whatever the thing she really wished to discuss is. 

“I came here to discuss something with you,” She says. 

“Well, yes. I could conclude that for myself thanks,” Sansa replies. 

Cersei just sets her mouth into a hard line, “I know the last time we spoke, we discussed the past. But I had one more thing to say, I wasn’t fully transparent.”

Sansa listens and she recalls the moment she thought Cersei was on the edge of revealing something to her, is that what this is about?

“I say this, not as an excuse. I already told you last time that I don’t want to excuse my past but come to terms with it and come to peace with my own mistakes. I discussed things with Jaime and he said you’re likely one of the only people alive that I truly owe anything to, so this is that. You deserve the truth, even the parts I hate myself,” Cersei spits the last part out, barely concealing her distaste.

Sansa, still opting not to speak, just stares. 

“When I was a young girl at the Rock, there was a witch in the woods. We all knew she was there. Me and a couple girls went to visit her. She told me. She told me that my husband would have over a dozen children but that I would have three and that they would all die. She told me that a younger and more beautiful Queen would come to take all of this from me,” Cersei’s voice is slightly uneven and it might be the most unnerved Sansa has ever seen her

“Cersei—”

“The prophecy. It consumed me. It was all I could think about, after the part about Robert and mine’s children came true I did everything I could to prevent the other’s from coming true. I feared you, feared Margaery Tyrell. That you were the younger more beautiful queens. Maybe in the end it was my own fault, putting so much stock in the prophecy gave it the power to come true,” Cersei shakes her head regretfully. 

Sansa just sits, absorbing Cersei’s tale. She’s right, it’s no excuse. But the insight is fascinating to Sansa. It makes a sick sort of sense. The intense hatred Cersei had both for her and Margaery right from the beginning. How once Joffrey died she really seemed to be on the verge of coming fully unhinged. It was like fitting the last piece of a puzzle she had been unravelling for years, as if Cersei suddenly came into focus. 

“I understand,” Sansa says.

Cersei’s head snaps up.

“You do?”

“You’re right. It’s no excuse. But I also cannot understand the sort of impact that would have on a young girl especially once parts of it started to become true. It would be haunting,” Sansa says.

Cersei nods slowly. 

“And I think you understand. Understand that you let it consume your very being. It’s a start Cersei. We’re here now, fighting against the Dragon Queen, working towards a better Westeros. Let us lay the past to rest, for good this time,” Sansa finishes and she feels as if an immense weight is being lifted from her as she makes the decision to let it go, to move on and focus on the future. 

Cersei, for all her masks, appears shocked. 

“You mean that?”

“We’re allies now Cersei. In a short while everyone here will be going off to fight and it will be us left to look after the women and children. Let us do that with grace and let us do it together and on the same page,” Sansa resolves. 

Cersei stands up.

“We will succeed Sansa. Daenerys doesn’t know the strength we have. She will underestimate the alliance of a lion and a wolf,” Cersei grins, showing all her teeth. 

“Let us show her that the might of lions and the bite of a wolf is more powerful than the fire of dragons,” Sansa says and rises as well.

But at her own words her stomach drops and she is reminded of Bran’s visions. She brushes the thought aside and looks at Cersei’s emerald green eyes. Nods. 

~~~

After Cersei leaves and Jon is still absent Sansa decides she cannot wait to be bombarded by someone else, to have something else dropped on her. The revelation that Cersei had just admitted to was as sudden as it was unexpected. She had always felt like Cersei had this odd drive, almost nonsensical in the way it pushed her to do things and Sansa had never been able to fully figure it out. But this, this prophecy had made sense. And with it gone, Cersei was changed, that fear no longer driving her. Fighting an impossible series of events was no longer an issue.

If nothing else, it made her trust Cersei a hell of a lot more, she would at least be more predictable without that looming over her. 

And so Sansa, left her chambers. Deciding to seek out Arya herself and get to the bottom of why Gendry remained in Storm’s End while Arya was here. It was worrying and she feared the worst. She had thought she had gotten through to her sister, that things were progressing with her and Gendry but she had clearly been wrong if he had allowed her to come to Riverrun without him. 

Sansa is well on her way to where she was told Arya was staying when that thought stops her dead in her tracks. She had been so distracted by everything and Gendry’s absence itself that she hadn’t considered the implication. He had let her journey to Riverrun alone, without any other protection. She was going to murder Gendry if they survived this war. 

With a renewed vigour in her step she breezes through the last few halls and finds herself at Arya’s door but before she can knock the door is opened and Arya is there. 

Her sister looks distressed, she hadn’t noticed it before but she looks frazzled and completely out of sorts. She hoped dearly that Arya had been hiding it when they had reunited earlier or else she was definitely not the sister she should be, not noticing this level of distress. 

“Oh thank god you're here! I heard footsteps outside and came to check, I was just thinking of coming back to your rooms to check on you,” Arya says in a rush and backs into her chambers beckoning her in. 

“Back to my room?” Sansa asks, perplexed as she follows Arya over to her bed where she has crawled up on and sat with her legs crossed. 

Sansa kicks off her own boots and sits on the bed, tucking her knees up underneath her. 

“I walked by earlier and heard Bran inside and didn’t want to interrupt that and then when I came back later I nearly ran into Cersei, she didn’t see me though,” Arya answers quickly, clearly uninterested. 

“Oh, well yes,” Sansa replies, “What did you want to talk about?”

She is not expecting Arya’s reaction to the question. Her cheeks blush all the way to her temples and while Sansa often curses her Tully complexion for making her blush so easily she sees now it has not spared her sister in the slightest, perhaps her sister just flusters less frquently than her. 

Arya’s head is looking down in her lap and she murmurs, “Gendry.”

And this is so rare. Arya never comes to her first to talk about feelings, it’s often Sansa having to all but tie her sister to a bedpost to get the slightest chat out of her. Not that Arya won’t listen to Sansa’s feelings, she has no problem with listening to her talk about Jon (even if, Sansa admits, that particular one took a bit coming around to on Arya’s part, not that she can blame her) or anything else in her life, but she won’t reciprocate with the feelings bit. So she realizes she has to proceed with caution, not scare her off despite wanting to delve right in, let Arya come to her. 

“Ahh yes,” Sansa responds neutrally, “I wanted to ask about him remaining in Storm’s End, trouble with Edric?”

She inquires but really has no belief that this is the case, Edric can be hot headed and pompous but he is loyal and a good man. But better to let Arya think that her mind is far from whatever the real issue is. 

“Yes—No, not really,” Arya sputters, unsure.

Sansa just keeps her quiet. Schools her face into a calm and open expression to allow Arya to feel at ease. 

“That’s the excuse he used but it’s not the reason. I’ve royally fucked everything up Sansa and I have no clue how to fix it,” Arya admits and looks up at Sansa with wide eyes, a bit wet.

And Sansa feels herself go into the protective big sister mode that Arya so rarely lets her display. She reaches across the bed and envelopes Arya in a fierce hug, crushing her tinier frame to her chest. 

And Arya does cry. She’s seen it before, in the aftermath and trauma of the Long Night and once when after too many drinks they had all been reminiscing about their lost family. Arya is quiet, her sobs are barely audible but she feels her sister’s body vibrating against her own and a part of her thinks that this has been building in Arya for a while, that she’s been waiting for Sansa to return to Riverrun to allow herself this release. No wonder she’d been so worked up and anxious when she got to her room. 

Eventually Arya is soothed and she lets go of Sansa. Scooting back across the bed, she wipes her eyes. Her face is puffy now and her face a bit red. 

Arya lets out a wet chuckle, “I’m a right mess. An embarrassment this is, just ridiculous. I train as a faceless man but can’t deal with my own emotions for one real man.”

“Oh, so you admit there are emotions there then?” Sansa says, teasing now that she knows her sister is feeling at least a bit better. 

“Aye, no point in denying it after that display. But shut up about it will you? Don’t want anyone overhearing that shit,” Arya peers around like the whole castle is about to pour into her room. 

“So what happened?” Sansa asks. 

And Arya tells her, all of it. How she hadn’t told Gendry about accepting the position as Lady of Winterfell and how she had made it seem like she wouldn’t be able to stay with Gendry, like she would be too good for him. How it had snowballed from there and ended with a mess she wasn’t even sure how to begin to fix. 

“And everytime I try to fix it, my words just make it worse,” Arya finishes with a sigh. 

Sansa just looks at her sister, “Tell him you love him, he’ll understand. Tell him you’re an idiot, although I think he already knows that bit.”

And then they’re both laughing, and gods that feels good. To laugh with her sister about boys amidst all the chaos of their current life. 

“Oh, easy for you to say. You and Jon had it so simple you know,” Arya says, somehow keeping a straight face.

Sansa looks at her sister as if she just grew another head, “Arya you know that the situation with me and Jon was about a thousand times more complicated than you and Gendry! We thought we were brother and sister for god's sake. Not to mention Daenerys breathing down our necks wanting to kill us both!”

Sansa reaches over and shoves her sister who’s laughing again. 

“You’re right!” Arya notices Sansa’s unimpressed expression and continues, “You are! I’m just being a child, no really I am. When I see him again I’ll swallow my pride and get it over with, there’s nothing for it if I’m this miserable without him.”

Sansa smiles, “And Arya, if you do become Lady of Winterfell. That makes me Queen. I’ll raise him up immediately, give my own blessing for the two of you to get married. It will be my first decree if you want it.”

Arya looks over at Sansa and she can see the appreciation from her beaming face. 

“You know I don’t care about any of that, Gendry either. But I guess it would be necessary if it comes to all that. Thank you Sansa. That means so much,” Arya smiles back. 

“I mean I’d be quite a hypocrite right. I married someone the whole realm thinks is a bastard and I spent years calling him brother so…” Sansa trails off at the sight of Arya pretending to vomit at the brother implication. 

“So what did Cersei want with you anyway?” Arya asks, no longer distracted by her own problems. 

Sansa does her best not to squirm. She doesn’t feel right betraying Cersei’s secret, not even to her sister. 

“She wanted to thank me for the men we sent with them and apologize for having them taken captive. Just that and some preliminary talks before the meeting tonight,” Sansa says and it’s not a lie but not the whole truth either.

Surprisingly Arya doesn’t detect anything unusual and just rolls onto her stomach. She must still be distracted by Gendry. 

“Yes, I heard about that. A right laugh the whole situation, and Genna Lannister coming in to save them. I know we are supposed to hate Cersei but I don’t know, it seems different now,” Arya muses. 

The words shock Sansa, she never expected them from her sister. 

“She is changed, I agree. But we should still keep our guard up, just in case,” Sansa says cautiously despite her own growing trust and if she dares, friendship, with the woman. 

“Obviously,” Arya rolls her eyes, “And what was Bran after, he was being so odd.” 

And this one brings Sansa up short. So she is honest. 

“The conversation between Bran and I was private, but it’s nothing bad or anything to worry about, I promise,” Sansa says. 

And okay, actually only a partial truth, again. The lie feels more bitter though, more personal. But she remembers how much she needs to protect her family and she resolves to not say anymore on the subject, even if it is in fact something Arya would worry very much about. 

Arya studies Sansa for what feels like ages but is probably only a minute before she responds. 

“Okay, I won’t pry. I trust you Sansa, don’t make me regret that,” and Arya gets up off the bed and stretches. 

Her words send a chill down Sansa’s spine despite the way they were said with nonchalance. Does she deserve that trust when she is keeping this from her? She hopes so, she hopes that she is saving Arya from needless stress about something that will never matter but she can’t be sure and her stomach turns at the thought. 

“I’m going to call for a bath before the meeting later, hopefully tame the puffiness of my face,” Arya says moving across the room gathering things she needs for her bath. 

“Okay, I need to head back anyways, I hope Jon is back by now,” Sansa extricates herself from Arya’s bed too and starts to head towards the door. 

“Oh! That reminds me!” Arya near shouts from across the room, “Is our new little Stark still alright? Everything okay with the travel and all that?”

“Yes,” and Sansa smiles, rests her hands on her nonexistent baby bump, “As healthy as can be.”

“Good, we all just want you safe Sansa,” And Arya goes back to readying herself for her bath. 

Sansa shoves down her guilt at those words and heads back to her own chambers.

~~~

Rounding the corner with about a million thoughts in her head Sansa barely even realizes that her door is slightly ajar. She hesitates then, coming to a screeching halt as a sense of foreboding overcomes her. She distinctly remembers closing it and she has the key so what does it mean? 

She pushes it open, body tensed. But all that tension escapes her when she sees Jon’s familiar frame by window, turned away from her.

“Jon,” and she can’t keep the smile out of her voice, “you’re back!”

After weeks of not seeing him, even the temporary separation had been near unbearable so she is more emotional about his return than she should be. But he doesn’t turn around to greet her. 

She makes her way all the way to him and he still hasn’t moved. Only when she is standing right beside him does she see the letter he holds in his hand. He looks up then and there is fear in his every feature but he seems suddenly aware that she is there in a way he wasn’t only moments ago. 

“Sansa, I’m sorry, it had your name but I opened—”

Sansa takes the letter from him before he can finish. Not angry that he is opening her letters but worried at its contents and his reaction to it. 

Sansa reads. 

Lady Stark,

I write to you, realizing that you have no reason to trust me. But I hope you believe that the mistakes I have made most recently in my life have made me more committed than ever to the fate of Westeros. If I had more time I would encode this letter, but perhaps that is cowardly and after all this time it is the moment for me to come out of the shadows, if this letter is my downfall it is no less than I deserve. Daenerys Targaryen knows of your plans to move against her, that you travelled to Dorne at the very least, and she suspects you of working with Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Nothing beyond this. But if I know you, the plan will be more carefully laid than this, you must act quickly to maintain the upper hand. And do not underestimate her dragons as I underestimated you so many years ago. I will provide any help I can, she does not know where you are mounting your attack from as of yet, but obviously I do and I would not be surprised if she finds out soon. Information in Westeros has a way of finding its way to the wrong ears. Lastly, Tyrion is imprisoned, for reasons unrelated. I do not know what this information can do to help you but I imagine it may be beneficial. 

Sent with the hopes of Westeros,  
Lord Varys

Sansa rereads the letter several times. Just as frozen as Jon was moments ago. Her thoughts cannot seem to focus on one thing. So much has happened in the hours since she arrived in Riverrun and this threatens to push her over the edge, into something she isn’t sure she can recover from. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds at first,” Jon says, his hand finding her back and rubbing soothing circles. 

Sansa’s head turns sharply and her eyes narrow. Has Jon lost his mind in the intervening weeks? But she still can’t find her voice. 

“It’s not. She knows only of two of our allies for sure. And she doesn’t know where the front will be mounted,” Jon tries to reassure her.

And sure, she will admit that the second point is fair but as Varys points out that is a tenuous secret at best and the first point hardly matters. 

“Even if Tyrion is imprisoned, he is not an idiot. They’ll be able to guess our other allies easily enough. She’ll know the level of force she’s fighting against. She’ll deploy the dragons right off the bat, they won’t be able to talk her down from that,” Sansa can feel herself spiralling. 

Jon pulls her in close, cups her face.

“I won’t let anything happen. We have a plan for the dragons,” Jon sounds so steady.

“A plan that puts you in direct danger of dragon flame,” Her voice is small.

“I won’t let that happen. I swear Sansa,” Jon says solemnly.

And she can’t help but note the difference to all those years ago on the eve of the Battle of the Bastards when they’d thought all might be lost. He is so much calmer. She had been willing to die that night but she’s not willing to die now.

And surprisingly Jon’s thoughts seem to be in the same place. 

“I’ve never told you this, not purposefully kept it from you, but,” He hesitates, “The night before fighting Ramsay. When you told me you wouldn’t go back to him alive. I told the Red Woman afterwards that if I fell she wasn’t to bring me back. I knew if I fell I had failed you, that you would take care of your own fate rather than let him dictate it further. That if she brought me back again, that pain would only kill me. The knowledge that I had failed you and that you were gone. If you were gone I had no interest in life beyond that.”

Sansa’s eyes glisten with tears. Her face is still cupped in his hands and she’s amazed that all these years later he can still reveal things that make her heart sore. Even in such a melancholy way. The thought that neither of them had wanted to live in a world where the other was gone, even from that early. It was beautiful in a devastating way. 

“But now, I won’t let that happen Sansa. Neither of us have to accept death. We can do this, we have the numbers. It’s a hundred times better odds than against Ramsay and we won that, together. We will do the same now, your mind, my sword. Side by side,” Jon kisses her then. 

And she’s crying through the whole thing. Her salt tears falling onto their lips giving the kiss an edge despite its softness. 

When they break apart she just looks at him. Trying to maintain her sense of composure. 

“We have to break the news to the rest of them. This can’t wait until tomorrow and the meeting will have everyone together. We need to move as soon as possible,” The thought takes her by surprise, thinking only ten minutes ago that they had days if not a whole week to wait and strategize before moving. That facade is taken away with the mere arrival of a letter. 

“Not necessarily. By the sounds of it things are crumbling for Daenerys. She has imprisoned Tyrion and Varys has turned. Things are strained for her, she won’t be quick,” Jon says, “Does that surprise you about Varys?”

Sansa sighs, “Not really no. I got the impression he was never overly impressed with her and that he regretted that decision. His priority is the realm and she clearly threatens that. But this instability around her only worries me more, she’s at her most unstable when she feels threatened.” 

Jon looks contemplative then, “I suppose you’re right then. Tonight it is. I wanted to ask you about Arianne first though. Before the meeting. Was all that okay?”

Sansa allows the diversion for this, “Part of me wished she was Northern honestly.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow, amused.

“It would be nice to have an ally like that so close by. And a friend if I’m being honest. I feel like we are like minded, similar despite some of our obvious differences. I feel like I can trust her in a way that I don’t often with most people. It was reassuring. Her commitment obvious when she insisted on coming here herself, it reminded me of something I would do,” Sansa finishes.

Jon grins at that, “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Half of me expected you to turn up in the Dragonpit that day with Daenerys and Cersei you know? Just out of spite and to see all their faces.”

Sansa is serious suddenly, “You were there. I trust you, Jon. You speak for me and I speak for you, part of the same pack.”

Jon looks at her endearingly, “It’s a joke Sansa.”

But he pulls her into a hug all the same and squeezes her tight. 

“Come on, let us go face the rest of them,” Sansa says and tries to pull him towards the door. 

“One last thing,” Jon smiles, “You said the babe is okay? You’re sure?”

Sansa squeezes his hand then, “Yes everything is normal from what I can tell but I’ll check with a maester tomorrow even if we decide we have to leave first thing. I’ll make time.”

Jon puts his free hand on her stomach then despite her lack of a bump. 

“I will do whatever it takes to protect this Sansa. To protect our family,” Jon says. 

And it brings her back to Bran’s vision, the concealment she is keeping from Jon even now. And how her thoughts had echoed the same notion, anything to protect her family. If Jon was going to risk himself to take down the dragons then she can do this. 

“I miss Cat,” She says instead. 

And Jon smiles sadly, “Me too. But she is as safe as can be. Sam and Gilly will take care of Winterfell for us. She is in the best of hands. And if anything were to happen…”

“Jon, don’t—”

“They would look after her, no matter what. Do what needs to be done to keep her safe,” Jon nods firmly. 

And the words threaten tears again but she holds them back. The thought of Sam and Gilly having to do just that overwhelming itself. 

“Come on, let's go down to the hall,” It’s Jon’s turn to remind them of their obligation. 

And so Sansa doesn’t say anything but takes her arm in Jon’s and allows herself to be led from the room. Her racing thoughts keep her occupied all the way down. 

~~~

Jon and Sansa are late, much to Sansa’s annoyance. She knows it’s nobody’s fault, maybe Varys’ but she can’t blame him for this. Lateness is not a habit she adheres to and when they arrive at the boisterous room everyone hushes at their entrance. Everyone seems to be there. All their allies except the Dornish lords, though Arianne stands for them, and of course nobody is present from Storm’s end. 

The sight resolves Sansa. Around her are the leaders of all their people and the most notable lords. These are the faces of the people who will reshape Westeros for the better, who are fighting for the people they rule over in a way that Daenerys Targaryen never has. And her and Jon are leading this charge together with Cersei and Jaime. She takes the momentary silence to speak as her and Jon make their way over to their seats by Bran and Arya. 

“We apologize for the delay,” She says while extricating the letter from her pocket, “But we have received a letter that is of utmost importance and it delayed us in its surprise.”

Around the room there are murmurs and she notices Cersei and Arya in particular looking directly at her. She spares a glance for Jon who has taken his seat beside her while she remains standing. 

“This letter is from Lord Varys,” More murmurs, “Allow me to read it to the room.”

And so she does. She reads it and the hush falls over her as the words pour off the page and out of her mouth. When she finishes there are five seconds of perfect silence and then the room erupts.

“We should leave tonight!”

“How does she know?”

“The dragons could be on their way now!”

“Tyrion is imprisoned?”

Sansa is pretty certain the last one comes from Cersei but she wasn’t looking her way when it was said and everyone is being too loud for her to be certain. Sansa feels the control in the room ebbing away and for a few moments she is unsure how to proceed. But that decision is luckily made for her.

“QUIET!” A voice bellows after a few minutes of chaos and when Sansa identifies it she realizes that it is Yara Greyjoy.

It takes a moment but everyone seems to quiet down at her commanding voice and when they realize the woman who sits the Salt Throne of the Iron Islands is the one demanding, most people cut the chatter. 

Yara smiles, “Continue Lady Stark, I’m sure you have had more time to think this over than this group of blubbering idiots.”

There are a few sounds of dissent at that comment but Sansa knows she means no insult. It is just how Yara is, in this moment she appreciates it.

Sansa wavers for a moment, unsure. This is not the same as addressing the Lords of the North or even fighting for the North at the Summit that decided the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. In large part this has all been orchestrated by her and Jon, and now it is time to really ask, for people to lay down their lives for her, for her people. And yes for themselves as well but people are short sighted sometimes and this could all too easily blow up in her face. 

She finds Jon’s face for one moment and the resolution in his eyes steadies her. 

“Thank you Lady Greyjoy,” formal given the circumstance, “Jon and I have had a discussion and we do think that moving sooner is better than waiting. Lord Varys does say she doesn’t know we are in Riverrun but we can’t hope to hide that fact with armies scattered all around, now that she is on the lookout for it.” 

“And how do we know that Lord Varys is to be trusted? From what I know, the Spider is thought to be the most slippery of all at King’s Landing,” It is who Sansa assumes to be Genna Lannister who raises this question, and it’s fair enough. 

“Truthfully, I don’t know if I trust him. But I do know that risking staying here is no good. We will send word to Storm’s End and Dorne as soon as possible so that they mobilize quicker. The Greyjoy fleet as well. The dragons pose a risk too great to leave to chance,” Sansa says with conviction. 

Genna appraises her for a second but nods and nobody else seems to have an objection to this. 

It is one of the Lords from Casterly Rock who throws the next question out though. 

“And after all of this is done, what then? With Daenerys off the Iron Throne, who will rule Westeros with her gone?” 

The question brings Sansa up short. It is not something that was widely known. Cersei’s idea. The North knows, she thinks, at least they assume from the whispers that have travelled to them. And Arianne knows, Sansa having told her herself. But the rest of them? 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Arianne Martell says as she stands up, taking the entire room’s attention with it, “Who are you all here for?”

Sansa sucks in her breath as she waits. She feels Jon reach a hand to her back, steadying her from his seat. And she glances down at him seeking reassurance. This is the moment. He nods at her, eyes determined. 

Sansa thinks it’s good that it comes from Arianne. That it is not so blatant. That they will draw their own conclusions. 

“All of us are here in one way or another because of the Starks. They alone have resisted the Dragon Queen and her treachery. And they have brought us together, with the help of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Who from what I hear want nothing to do with a crown. There is your answer,” Arianne says and clasps her hands in front of her waiting for a word of dissent. 

It’s Yohn Royce who rises next and Sansa hadn’t even noticed the large commanding man. She is calmed instantly by his presence, it’s been too long since she saw her old friend. 

“I know nobody more honourable than Lady Stark and her husband Lord Stark. The Vale will stand behind a Stark King and Queen,” Royce says with his booming voice. 

Sansa almost laughs that it is still Yohn Royce who speaks for the Vale even when her cousin Robin sits right beside him. Some things never change. 

Theon stands then, eyes flickering only momentarily to Yara before speaking, “And the Iron Islands have been long standing allies of the Starks. We would be honoured to see them on the Throne.” 

She notices that Theon is trying to catch Arianne’s eye during this but she won’t seem to give him the time of day, oh poor Theon. 

Theon bows his head to them but before he can even finish, Cersei Lannister herself is standing up. And as she rises, the energy in the room seems to lower. Most people have seemingly accepted her involvement but this gesture worries them. 

“You all know of the long standing feud between the Lannisters and Starks, but it was I myself who suggested this crowning in the first place. Jaime and I, as overseers of Casterly Rock, fully support Sansa and Jon in this endeavour,” And Cersei smiles with sincerity. The informality of their names doesn’t come out as a slight but as a personal touch that unites them. 

Sansa thinks that must be the end of it but then their Uncle Edmure is standing as well, not one to be outdone by Cersei Lannister she can’t help but think. 

“My niece and nephew, as I still think of them now,” Edmure glances their way, and Sansa pulls Jon to his feet, realizing he has still been seated all this time, “Represent everything the Seven Kingdoms should aim to be. We would be fools to continue to allow a tyrant to rule over us when they stand before us, poised to be the best rulers Westeros has known in centuries.”

Tormund doesn’t stand but suddenly shouts out, “Aye, Little Crow has deserved to be King since defeating the Bolton bastard and allowing the Wildlings south of the wall. His wife kissed by fire will make a far better Queen than the Dragon Cunt ever has!”

That seems to decide it. The energy in the room is crackling and Sansa looks at the faces around her. Davos, Brienne and Podrick are all beaming. Not having to speak to show their support when the room knows it is already there. But before they can fully revel one of the Northern Lords pipes up, brave. 

“But who will rule Winterfell if our Lord and Lady are on the throne?” He asks. 

There is a pause around the room as everyone considers this and Sansa hates herself for the betrayal that is her head and eyes turning to Arya. Because every eye in the room follows her own. 

Arya nearly falters, she can tell, she looks all the terrified girl Sansa once knew but a switch flips inside her and there is a blaze in her eyes that Sansa recognizes. 

“It’s mine by rights with my brother Bran continuing to choose abdication, I will serve the North as is my duty,” Her voice rings clear and true and Sansa couldn’t be more proud. 

The Northern Lords seem appeased and Sansa can tell they don’t object. The North adores her sister and accepts this easily. They’re probably more surprised that Arya has agreed to it than anything else. 

“It seems a coronation is in order then,” And surprisingly this voice comes from nearby, from Meera Reed, who Sansa didn’t realize was sitting right next to Bran. 

Sansa and Jon look startled when Meera pushes Bran out from behind the table and their brother produces two twin crowns, both interweaved with direwolves, from his bag. 

“I had them produced before leaving Winterfell,” Bran pauses then, “I thought several possible futures might unfold”

His eyes catch Sansa’s for only a second at those words. 

“Bran, I—” Jon starts.

“It’s okay brother. This was always meant to happen,” Bran says, lowering his voice so the room cannot hear them. 

Before Sansa is even fully aware of what is happening the crowns are being placed on their heads. It’s not what she expected at the outset of this. There is still so much to do tonight, plans to be laid but she cannot deny that this has united the people in a way she couldn’t have predicted and couldn’t have planned better herself. It seems that the gods are on their side for this at least. 

It strikes her that her and Jon have barely spoken since this series of events began but she supposes that is how it is with revolution. The people believed in them, for the moment that was enough. Sansa and Jon’s job would come next, in the moments after this when they started to lead their people. 

And so Sansa places her hand in Jon’s and is brought back to the night that Jon was declared King. It seems that all that has happened since then and before it has led them to this moment. This moment where a room calls out to the King and Queen Stark, to a new and better Westeros and she knows that it is where she is meant to be, Bran’s vision be damned. 

She looked to Jon, seeing her own shock at this turn mirrored in his features. He speaks then, but amongst the noise she can only read his lips.

“The pack survives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well damn. King and Queen, I honestly hadn't planned to have them coronated beforehand but i was planning some more and thought that it would make sense (and spoiler, it enrages Daenerys, because of course) so all in all it was the choice I had to make. This was a fun chapter really, the calm before the storm if you will, so enjoy it! I especially love writing Sansa and Arya's interactions, as someone without any sisters (only one brother) I adore their dynamic! Drop a comment and chat to me about this fic, I love hearing from you all!


	13. fuel the pyre of your enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This one was a doozy to write, the most difficult yet. But we are in the thick of it now. Onward!

When Sansa had seen the white flag, she hardly believed her eyes. They had planned to wave one themselves, to give Daenerys a chance to see reason, to make peace with the Kingdoms. But she had beaten them to it. She hears her Uncle Edmure let out a low whistle when he recognizes what it is. It was not a sight any of them had expected. 

“Do you think it could be a trap?” Theon asks immediately, ever practical. 

The group was large. They were all mounted on horses, looking down at the white spot flickering in the wind onto the clear blue sky. Sansa couldn’t deny that it seemed like a bad omen, too innocent given the circumstances. It takes Sansa a moment to realize that everyone looks to her and Jon. Their recently crowned King and Queen, waiting for their assessment.

She looks at Jon and she thinks that they’re on the same page. They’ve functioned as one unit for so long that she doesn’t second guess herself. But before she opens her mouth she looks around their loose circle. 

To her and Jon’s right, the Greyjoy siblings, both of them looking ready for a fight at the parley if it comes to that. Then Jaime and Cersei beside them. Twinned lions, with a small Lannister entourage, their old Aunt Genna among them. The leaders of the Vale next, Yohn Royce resolute, Robin trying not to shake. Right across the circle is Arianne, as unperturbed as ever, her hair blows in the wind and you wouldn’t know their lives were at risk if you saw her, you’d think they were sitting for a portrait. To Arianne’s right is their Uncle Edmure and a few of his advisors, all looking devout, letting their young King and Queen rule. And to Sansa’s left their own group. Bran, Arya, Podrick, Meera, Davos, Tormund and Brienne, all grouped together, expressions different for each of them, but appearing as if they are all one anyways. The little group comes from different areas but they are all Northern now. Podrick, Meera, Davos and Brienne pledging an allegiance long ago that had resided in their bones since. 

She allows her eyes to take one last look around the circle, accepts that this is the group that will be here, for better or for worse, and ploughs ahead.

“If Daenerys is laying a trap with her parley then she will lose the few remaining Westerosi supporters she has, even the Tyrells wouldn’t overlook that,” Sansa says and she sees many in the circle nodding their heads. 

“And if it is a trap, we have little choice. To ignore a parley would be treason,” Jon supports her, honour tied up in all his words. 

She looks at him and can’t help but let her face soften. It’s only been a couple of nights since their coronation and she can’t help but feel changed. The people chose them, and to the two of them that was what mattered more than anything else. They had had so little time together since that moment but the words they had shared had been full of reassurances, that they were doing this for the right reasons. It had seemed so sudden, and Sansa felt the weight of the responsibility threaten to crush her, but she had thought about her daughter Cat, safe, far in the North and that all she wanted was to keep things that way. This was how they did that. She saw all that reflected in Jon’s eyes, the solid determination, unwavering faith. 

“It’s settled then,” Arya says and Sansa catches her eye. Her sister cares little about breaking decorum, that her and Jon were speaking. They had been caught up and Arya knew they had little time, “We make for the field, wait for them to come and speak with us.”

Sansa and Jon nod in unison at her words and pull on the reins of their horses, everyone else falling in line for what might be their death march.

Sansa spares one last look at Arya and the sisters exchange a smile tinged with melancholy. Sansa had caught up with Arya after she declared herself the Lady of Winterfell, she had been beyond proud of the woman her sister was becoming, of the ruler she would be. If Sansa could have anything in the world she would stay in Winterfell for the remainder of her life, happy with Jon and their family. But Westeros needed them, and there was nobody she would rather see in the North than her sister, nobody better suited for the task. 

“The Dragon Queen will not harm us, not here,” She hears Meera’s voice float through the group then, solid and certain. Sansa isn’t sure who she is speaking to but she admires her for helping sooth whoever it is, she allows herself to imagine it is her cousin Robin, he likely needs it the most.

With that thought Sansa pulls her horse up close to Jon, reaches out her hand to his momentarily. He reaches back and their fingers brush. 

“Ready?” Sansa says, a bit hushed despite the fact that everyone else is far enough behind them to not risk being overheard.

Jon doesn’t take his eyes off the flag in the distance.

“I’m thinking about tomorrow. About Rhaegal,” Jon says then. 

And with that Sansa grips her reins tighter. She had been trying to put this part of the plan out of her mind. The closer it got the riskier it seemed, and it might not even work, what would they do if Daenerys was able to keep both dragons? So much was being left to chance.

Before Sansa can respond, Jon speaks again. 

“You’ll have to be the one playing offense for this parley, you always are but especially now. I’m going to be trying to pick up on anything, see if I can sense him. Or if Daenerys foolishly lets anything slip about the dragon’s location,” Jon looks at her as if it is a vain hope, Daenerys is not that foolish, not even at her worst. Even if she didn’t expect Jon’s bond she knew they would take any opportunity to take down her dragons. 

And Sansa knew Jon hated this part. Getting in touch with the blood of the dragon that pulsed through his veins. Trying to call out to a monster he despised. But he did it without complaint. And the skies had been suspiciously empty, Daenerys must have them under lock and key, if not literally than at least figuratively. 

“I have faith in you, Jon,” an old promise she thinks, a question he had asked her in another lifetime. 

Jon’s head jerks a bit at that. Looks at her from his saddle. A sad grin breaking out.

“That’s all we can hope for then,” and they saunter on, into the Dragon’s den.

~~~

Their group had been waiting nearly an hour when the first signs of a group approaching could be seen and Sansa felt herself let out an exhale she could’ve been holding for the last hour. The rest of the group relaxed as well. But it was momentary. Sansa had been replaying all she knew in her head about the Dragon Pit meeting, how Daenerys had come swooping in on the back of Drogon. It seemed, hopefully that they would be spared that today. 

The next ten minutes are tense. Nobody removes themselves from their horses, standing relatively close, Jon and Sansa in the front, surrounded by their strongest fighters, in case things turn for the worst. 

But when Sansa sees Daenerys’ white hair whipping in the distance she is confident then that they won’t be burnt alive. At least not today. 

As they get closer, Sansa can make out their group. She realizes that it’s actually smaller than Sansa’s own. She recognizes Missandei and Grey Worm. Jorah. And with a slight suck in of her breath, Lord Varys. She had told everyone present that nobody is to breathe a word of the letter, but still the sight of him worries her, puts her on edge. Besides that she sees a few Dothraki, a couple of Unsullied and who she thinks are the Lords of Highgarden. 

The Lannister forces had reported to them that the Tyrells were rapidly approaching, they were unaware that they had been spotted and had sent a small group ahead to King’s Landing, presumably for this meeting, Sansa thought now. 

The Tyrells didn’t worry her. They had received word from the Martells and the forces of the Stormlands. They were mounting a front behind the Tyrells, staying far back enough to be unknown. It was what they needed. And while the Greyjoy fleet hadn’t reported, Yara insisted that they would be in Blackwater bay, ready for backup and to effectively trap Daenerys at all directions. 

And then Sansa lets herself take in the Dragon Queen. It’s been years but the woman brings up a cold dread in her. Not a fear, never a fear. But a sense of evil, the feeling she got when Old Nan would tell them ghost stories. But wolves don’t cower, so she straightens her spine and fixes her gaze on the woman. 

Daenerys is beautiful, in a slightly deranged way, Sansa has always thought. At present she wears a crown, it appears as if it has been forged from dragon scales. Half her hair is piled on top of her head, in an intricate braid pattern while the rest hangs in waves down to her ribs. Her dress and riding coat are black, with red trimmings. The Targaryen colours stand out against her pale skin and white hair, making her violet eyes pop. 

Beyond these surface observations Sansa notes that she thinks Daenerys looks tense. Perhaps that’s putting things simply, of course she would be tense, stressed, unseated, everything was going wrong for her. 

But Sansa stood by the observation. Daenerys seemed as if she wanted to be anywhere but here, and as she made her final approach she saw how tight the Dragon Queen gripped her horse’s reins. An undercurrent of rage barely hidden. 

As their party comes to a stop, Sansa briefly wonders if she should speak first, control things from the beginning but Daenerys is not a woman who waits and she speaks into the air that suddenly seems brittle with cold.

“Crowns? My advisors thought it necessary to obey Westerosi customs but you come here waving your treason in my face. Why should I not call my dragons immediately, have this done with?” Daenerys scoffs.

Sansa is struck with the thought that Daenerys is trying very hard to seem unbothered. She can’t hide how her eyes focus on her and Jon’s crowns though. It had been something they had been persuaded to do, and they both knew that it made sense. To hide this from Daenerys was nonsensical, but the show of opulence appealed to neither of them. The crowns glinted in the sun though. Three between them. Sansa was sure it was her imagination but she thought maybe her and Jon’s reflected off Daenerys’ and hers back to them, refracting light between the opponents.

“You have called for the parley Daenerys. What are your terms?” Sansa asks, ignoring the Dragon Queen’s comment and focusing all her energy on preserving custom. 

“My terms? I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as is my birthright. It is all of you who are committing treason. My terms are simple, bend the knee. This will be your only chance for surrender,” Daenerys lets the threat linger, not needing to speak of fire to have it dance behind her eyes. 

Sansa thinks her bold. This woman who knows that they hold all the cards. That the secret of Jon’s birth can be revealed at any moment. Something that until now has been known only to the Starks, and Cersei and Jaime. A secret they had promised to not reveal in exchange for their lives. And Sansa realizes suddenly that that is the crux. Daenerys will hold them to that, it’s why she dangles it now, to remind them of their deal. But she gives them no choice, they have come this far. 

It’s Bran who speaks, “You hold no claim here. The Targaryens were defeated. But even if you believe their bloodline divine, the true heir is Jon,” Inclining his head towards him.

It shocks Sansa, and she is not the only one. But the rest of them are startled by his words. Sansa is only reeling from Bran’s decision to reveal this when there had been no such discussion. She notices Jon and sees the same sentiment flash across his face, tinged with a hurt. 

Daenerys sputters, “Jon is a bastard. Born of an illegitimate affair of your Aunt Lyanna and my brother Rhaegar.”

Bran just stares at her while everyone around them mutters, everyone taking them in except Meera Reed who seems almost amused. 

“That makes me the heir,” Daenerys is seething now, over her shock. 

Sansa takes this moment to take in the rest of Daenerys’ group. She notices right off that Missandei and Grey Worm seem uncomfortable, and also surprised by the words being spoken, so she hadn’t confided in them this most wicked of secrets. 

Jorah seems defensive, ready to throw himself in front of Daenerys but the news doesn’t seem to phase him, too concerned with her safety. Nothing new there. 

It is Varys who Sansa’s eyes linger on. He is impassive, of course, yet she can almost detect a smugness under his features. Their eyes lock for the briefest of moments but there is nothing revealed there, it is over before Sansa can wonder if it means anything. 

In the silence of Daenerys’ defense to her claim the wind blows and Sansa swears she hears her brother let out a sigh before he continues.

“Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia was annulled, as you well know. We have proof of this, I have it with me at our encampment. Lyanna and Rhaegar were later wed in secret, as you also know. That makes Jon his heir. As the next in the male line he outranks you,” Bran sounds exhausted. 

“Bran—” Jon starts, panicked. But Sansa reaches out and grips his arm. Squeezes. And he stops. Because Sansa has realized what Bran has done.

By doing this himself he has dared anyone to question him. His information is irrefutable and there have been whispers across the continent about his mystic powers. It is perfect, for this to come from Bran. It gives them the most credibility they can hope for. 

“You can choose to believe this boy,” Daenerys says condescendingly, “Or believe in the might of my dragons. I will show you all who the true power of House Targaryen is, and it is not Jon Snow.” 

There is silence, and as is so often the case Daenerys continues into it. 

“Yara, we were allies once. You cannot tell me you choose to align with the woman who had you kidnapped,” Daenerys juts her chin towards Cersei. 

“When we were allies you never once tried to have me rescued if you recall. I have more faith in the Starks and in my brother,” Yara says without even glancing her way, not giving her the time.

Daenerys’ nostrils flare and her cheeks flush red for a moment. She seems to think about addressing others but thinks better of it. 

But it seems she has misstepped in that because Arianne navigates her horse to the front of the crowd.

“No plea for me,” Arianne says with a hint of venom, “Your grace?”

Daenerys’ eyes flash, angry and maybe hurt, “I have nothing to say to you Arianne. I believed us to be steadfast allies, even friends, and yet here you stand, across a battlefield from me.”

Arianne raises her arched eyebrows, “Allies? Friends? You bullied me into terms that bled Dorne dry and gave us nothing in return. I admit agreement to these negotiations out of fear and respect to the crown but not now Daenerys. Our families are old enemies. I do not forget Elia Martell, so do not come to our feet asking for allyship. I told you once that you would be wise to take up arms against the Starks, lest it come to this.”

There is an outbreak of mutterings behind Sansa at this proclamation but she herself is unsurprised, Arianne having told her this not weeks ago.

“And yet you made no move, and now your House will die with you. Yes, King Jon will survive but not the Targaryen name. The House of the Dragon is in its twilight year,” Arianne turns her horse around and makes her way to the back of the group, having said her piece. 

Daenerys is practically foaming at the mouth. Her advisors look at her worried, Grey Worm appearing as if he is ready to physically restrain her, while Jorah is ready to attack at the slightest word.

And then she says, almost to herself, quiet enough that Sansa isn’t sure they all catch it, “Let it be fear then.”

And she looks at Jon, Sansa’s eyes follow Daenerys’ and she realizes at the very least Jon has heard her words.

“Daenerys,” Jon starts “I never wanted to take your claim, you leave us no choice.”

“She is your Queen then?” Daenerys asks and it is with a wounded voice that she does. 

Jon doesn’t hesitate, “Now and always. You’ve known that for a long time Daenerys.”

“You are no Targaryen,” Daenerys bites back. 

“I’ve never wanted to be,” And with that his eyes turn to Sansa.

Sansa lets the silence settle. Watches Daenerys shake slightly with the anger firing in her heart. And then begins.

“Daenerys,” Sansa starts, finding her entrance, “We can all leave this war alive. Give up the Throne, go in peace. The great houses have renounced you. This is your one chance to let House Targaryen bow out gracefully.”

Sansa’s kind words hang, ringing out. And apparently fall on empty ears. 

“I do not know who you think you are. Sansa Stark. But do not presume to ever tell me how to rule my Kingdoms. I should’ve taken care of you when I had the chance, I hope if nothing else this war provides me that. I will not miss that opportunity a second time, for Jon is no Targaryen and you are no Queen,” Daenerys says, incensed. And her horse moves forward a few steps at the end of her speech.

Several things happen at once. Jon and Brienne both move in front of her, reacting to the threat. She hears blades behind her unsheathing and sees the same thing from Daenerys’ group. Both women look at each other, bewildered, for one second connected. Neither of them expected the words to provoke such a reaction. 

“Stop!” Sansa says, clear and high. 

Everyone pauses. There is rustling as everyone stands down. But Jon doesn’t leave her side. 

“Well,” Sansa says, “It appears as if we are at an impasse. We shall fight at dawn.”

Daenerys looks as if she just swallowed a lemon, her lips are puckered and she looks incredibly annoyed, realizing that Sansa’s side has had the power for the entirety of this conversation and that she herself has gained no ground. 

“My dragons await it eagerly,” And Sansa catches Daenerys’ eyes flick to the Northeast at the comment. 

Both groups make to leave, neither wanting to leave their backs exposed and moving slowly. Just as Sansa is about to turn though, a voice breaks out.

“Wait!” Cersei yells.

Daenerys’ head turns to her. Anger and annoyance all rolled into one look of disgust. 

“Oh this should be good,” Daenerys rolls her eyes, “I hoped if I ignored your presence you might merely disappear.”

“Where is our brother?” Cersei asks, a genuine curiosity coming out. 

It was clearly not the question that Daenerys anticipated, nor Sansa herself. Daenerys’ mouth opens into a little ‘O’. 

“Your traitor brother’s whereabouts are none of your concern. He has been imprisoned after he revealed his own involvement in your escape,” Daenerys doesn’t seem to realize how she always reveals dissent in her ranks. 

Cersei just raises her eyebrows, turns her horse and makes to leave. 

“He won’t save you this time Lady Lannister. This time I will have you and Jaime burnt at my feet,” Daenerys words hang over them as their group leaves, but there is no mass movement to defend Cersei as there had been Sansa. 

As they all ride out to their encampment Cersei sidles her horse up to Sansa.

“She has him near. If she didn’t she would’ve said he was at King’s Landing. I don’t know why, but she has him on hand. Just in case,” Cersei lets the words out the side of her mouth. 

The fact seems obvious when she says it but Sansa hadn’t thought of it herself, too caught up in the rest of the meeting. And yet it is odd. For Daenerys to bring Tyrion all this way but not maintain the facade of a united front. What could she use him for?

“My brother always has a scheme. We must be prepared for it. Daenerys keeps him close for his mind, I know that much at least,” Cersei pulls her horse ahead, riding up to Jaime and leaving Sansa with more questions than she had moments ago. 

~~~

It seemed like time was slowing down and speeding up at the same time. Everyone moved quickly around her but it was only just getting dark. They had a long night ahead of them. Waiting for first light, waiting for battle to break. And there was nothing left to do but count the hours. Their alliances were made, the forces prepared, and the plans laid. Sansa could hardly believe that they had made it to this point.

She gazed around the camp, everyone was bustling around her but the only person she wanted to see was behind her, back in their tent.

She turned on her heel, a hand going unconsciously to her stomach. She had the smallest bump now, just in the last few days. But not something that someone who didn’t know it was there would recognize. 

She pushed open the tent flap and saw her husband pouring over their maps for the thousandth time. Jon didn’t even seem to register her entrance. She walked up behind him. Wrapping her arms around his centre and placing her head on the back of his shoulder. 

“Hello,” Sansa whispered, her voice sweet, “My King.”

Jon relaxed at her touch, realizing instantly who it was. And she felt his chest vibrate in a small laugh at her term of endearment. It still didn’t feel real to them. They had discarded their crowns as soon as they could and they laid on the far edge of the table, tangling up with each other as the two of them always did. 

Jon turns in Sansa’s arms, turning their positions so she is against their war table now and captures her lips in one smooth movement. Sansa melts into him, vaguely recalling a very different meeting between the two of them on the eve of a war.

The kiss is passionate but not urgent. They press their bodies together and move their mouths in what she can only think of as a dance they have had years to perfect. Jon’s hands find her lower back and hers find his hair, pulling his face closer to hers, keeping the pressure between their lips firm and constant, for fear she would float away without him anchoring her here. 

They stay that way, lost in each other, for a few moments. Neither relenting in their kiss but neither pushing things further, content to just be in that moment with each other. 

When they break apart Sansa can feel her cheeks are flushed and her lips a bit swollen, she sees the same incriminating evidence on Jon’s face. 

He nuzzles his head into her neck, laying one more kiss there. 

“And hello to you, my Queen.”

Sansa laughs, thinking him ridiculous. But she doesn’t let herself waste anymore time (though she can never think of these moments with Jon as a waste, she cherishes them too dearly). She turns back towards the table and feels Jon move to stand beside her.

“Is there anything we have missed?” Sansa asks him. 

Jon hesitates, “No, I wish we would receive news from the Greyjoy fleet but I’m sure they are waiting in position for tomorrow. Once I have Rhaegal all will be fine, she won’t dare to use Drogon when I have Rhaegal. She won’t risk the retaliation and we can beat her on the ground.”

Jon’s words do worry her, not just the part about Rhaegal. She’s been trying very hard to accept that and even though it feels surreal now, she knows that it has to happen regardless of how much she hates it. But the part about the Greyjoys. Yara had been confident but Theon had been solitude in his silence and Sansa had had no chance to ask him if he was worried. It could be nothing, but it was also something to raise an alarm. 

Jon grabs Sansa’s hand then. 

“You’ve done everything you can my love. You’ve fought the hard battles to get us to this point and I need your priority tomorrow to be keeping yourself safe. You’ll be with Cersei, Arianne, and Bran and I know you haven’t convinced Brienne to join the fray, I trust her with your life but promise me you won’t do anything reckless,” Jon squeezes her hand and looks into her eyes. 

For a moment dragon fire dances across her vision but she says, “I promise Jon,” a little devoid of emotion but he has so much to think about that he doesn’t notice. 

“But promise me,” She says then, “Promise me when all this is over we will both make it back to Cat. That we won’t leave her without a parent, that she will grow up safely with two parents to love her and for her siblings to know their parents one day as well.”

The look in Jon’s eyes isn’t one of defeat, not the one she saw when they fought the Boltons but instead one of uncertainty. He knows the plan is not without risks and he is warring with what he should say. She can’t help but feel they are both preparing for the reality that they might not make it out of this alive, not together at least. 

Finally, “I promise Sansa. We will return to our daughter. Together.”

He kisses her hands then and they stand there for a moment before she hears the tent flaps being ripped open.

“Are you two lovebirds done with your farewells? It’s nearly time,” Arya’s distinctive voice comes before Sansa actually sees her, pushing Bran in on his chair. 

Sansa swallows her fear down at the implication and focuses on this last moment she has with her family, tries to burn it into her memory. The four of them, wearing Northern furs and the Stark sigil of the direwolf peaking out here and there. She knows then that their family would be proud of them, to see them here, finally together and fighting in the same war. Finally able to be a pack worth fighting for. 

Bran is the same as ever but he looks weary, worried about the fight ahead and Sansa can’t help but wonder if the visions have persisted. He hasn’t sought her out again but she asked him only to do so if there was more about her. Could there be more he was concealing? It’s too late to ask now. 

Arya is already battle ready despite it being hours away. Even though she knows that Arya took out the Night King, this image of her sister as a warrior never fails to frighten her. She’s so small and Sansa is too motherly to overlook it. But Arya’s armor is in place, her Needle, and her hair is in one braid, tucked down her shirt to stay out of the way. 

Jon drops Sansa’s hands then and the absence burns her. 

“Aye, I need to be going, the journey will take a couple hours on foot. If I wish to have enough time to get through everything Bran has suggested I do, I should leave within the next hour,” He says, transforming into this battle ready man that she loves but also hates for the pain it causes her.

Bran and Arya are right by the table now and Bran touches the clearing on the map he has proposed for Jon, hidden but open and spacious, “Remember, you likely won’t feel much until Daenerys lets them free. She will ride Drogon but she will instruct Rhaegal to fly free, releasing him from her will somewhat. Her eyes flickered to the Northeast when she spoke of them, focus your energies there. If you have tried calling to him in your mind, no matter how ridiculous it seems, the bond of dragon and rider goes deep, he should come to you. If he doesn’t…”

Bran’s unfinished sentence hangs in the air. None of them need to complete it to know where it is going. 

Jon nods and makes to go grab Longclaw. Before he can move two steps though Sansa speaks.

“Wait! I want to say something.”

All three of their eyes turn to her and for once there is silence. No joke from Arya, no cryptic comment from Bran, and no affirmation from Jon. 

“I just,” Sansa starts, suddenly self conscious, “I want to say thank you. And don’t snicker Arya. I couldn’t do this without all of you. I spent so long thinking myself the last Stark, that all of you were lost to me. I didn’t know I only had to wait to have this all back. We could’ve stayed safe in Winterfell but you supported me in this, believed in my trust of Cersei and never wavered in your conviction.”

Sansa can see that Jon is looking at her with a burning longing in her eyes, regret fills her, wishing they had more time. Arya’s eyes glisten lightly, barely there. And Bran looks pensive. 

“And no matter what happens,” Her and Bran’s eyes meet for a moment, “I wouldn’t have changed the last few years with the three of you for anything. Everything I endured was worth it for this, for our new pack.”

She is fighting back her own tears now, the fear of the morning getting the better of her. 

“Well said sister,” Bran says and moves his chair to come to her, reaching to embrace her. 

Sansa bends down, seeing Arya and Jon embracing beside her, she hears Jon whispering warnings to her about being smart on the battlefield and when she hugs Bran he breathes into her ear. 

“They will be safe.”

The words mean nothing and everything to her. She pulls away and tries to read the expression on Bran’s face, failing. ‘They’ are clearly Arya and Jon, but does that mean she won’t be safe, what about Bran himself? Her thoughts turn. 

And then Jon is pulling Bran over to him, muttering something about brotherly bonding and Arya is gripping Sansa’s middle. 

“Oh! I can feel the bump now!” Arya says with excitement. 

“Almost three months,” Sansa says and returns her sister’s embrace. 

They let go and Sansa looks down at Arya. 

“Be safe tomorrow Arya, I won’t tell you to stay out of the thick of it but…”

Arya just rolls her eyes, “Your job will be much more interesting, sending out commands if anything changes, keeping tally of the battlefield, knowing everything first. You stay safe Sansa.”

The seriousness at the end of her words makes Sansa nervous. But she ignores it.

“And if you see Gendry tomorrow. Try not yelling at him,” Sansa teases. 

Arya snorts, “Yeah, no promises.”

And then there is nothing left to do. The four of them stand there together in a circle and peer at each other’s faces, for what she hopes isn’t the last time. 

“Well,” Jon says with a mix of regret and resignation, “I better head out. With any luck the next time you’ll see me will be on the back of a dragon.”

His attempt at levity doesn’t quite hit but they all manage weak smiles. 

Jon turns to Sansa then, pulls her in for one last hug. 

She closes her eyes, pretends they are anywhere but where they are at the moment. Just focuses on their breathing. 

He whispers, “I love you Sansa, now and always. And you are my Queen. I will see you before you have a chance to worry for me.”

Sansa can’t manage to speak so she squeezes him one last time and then lets him go. Wiping tears from her eyes as he puts on Longclaw. 

He makes his way to the flap of the tent turns back to look at them all, eyes landing on Sansa. 

“Don’t forget Jon. You are a wolf, now and always,” Sansa manages and she thinks it is what he needs more than anything on this eve where he will be forced to acknowledge his heritage that he so despises. 

He nods at her, turning and heading out and Sansa rushes to the tent flap, watching the crowds part around Jon as he heads out of the encampment. And she tries not to recall the last time he left her like this, when he went to Dragonstone and changed the fate of their world once already, seeing him do it again is almost too much. 

But she feels Arya’s hand rubbing circles on her back and even Bran grabs her hand. She has them now and this is not the same. Jon returned once, and he will again.

~~~

The battle commences just as the sun hits the valley. Casting all of them in a glorious light. Across the continent Westeros takes a breath.

~~~

There’s a part of Jaime that missed this, that missed the thrill of a battle. He thinks back to facing down the gauntlet of Daenerys’ dragon and thinks about the adrenaline and how it made him feel so alive. But it’s different now, he is fighting to return to Cersei, to Ciseron and Joanna. His family. So when one of Daenerys’ unsullied comes for him he sticks his sword in the man’s throat and rides off in the other direction, away from the worst of the fighting. 

The battle had started at the first sight of the sun and the two sides had collided like they had so many times in Westeros’ bloody history and Jaime desperately hoped this would be the last battle he saw.

He knew Cersei wasn’t going to let him convince her about anymore battles. But she had been the one who had returned them to Westeros and started another war. With justification, but for her to then ask him to sit it out? He couldn’t do that and let all these other people give their lives, it wasn’t the man he was anymore. And he knew Cersei realized this too, but that being said they hadn’t left on the best of terms. 

“Then leave Jaime. If you feel you must. Your feelings have never stopped you from doing exactly as you wish before,” Cersei had said, with forced calm.

“And you have always been the picture of impulse control. Let it go Cersei. I will be back when the battle is done, as I always have before,” And Jaime had regrettably stormed out of the tent. Leaving Cersei alone with her own thoughts. 

Jaime and Cersei had fought so little since they had left for Essos. And this was hardly a fight, not when Jaime considered their history (only slightly less bloody than Westeros’ own) that was littered with the carnage they had left in their wake. 

But the fight left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew she was stressed and genuinely worried, fearful for his ability to return. He should have stormed back in, sweeping her in his arms and kissing her farewell. He resolved to greet her exactly like that when he returned. Falling on this battlefield was not an option. 

And not that he was worried, it wasn’t in Jaime’s nature to worry, but he was surprised how well Daenerys’ forces were faring. He was riding around taking out stray fighters and realized they weren’t overtaking the opposition as quickly as he hoped, though they were faring alright, as long as the Dragons stayed away… 

He came to the top of a slight hill then and paused to observe the battlefield around him, and in that moment Jaime observed two things.

First he looked to the West and he saw what looked like a cloud of forces converging on the rest of the battle. Looking closer he thought he could make out the Tyrell colours and then behind them, the colours of the Stormlands and Dorne. The Tyrells were here but so was the rest of their support, finally. 

Jaime then turned, intending to ride back into the fighting and do his part, but in the far distance, towards King’s Landing he could make out another group, much further off and harder to see. But the only ones who should be coming from there were the Greyjoys, who had yet to correspond with them, and Jaime swore these men looked as if they were dressed in gold. 

Jaime shook his head then, focusing on the battle in front of him and hoping he wouldn’t have to worry about whatever was on the horizon. If Jon Snow just got that damn dragon… 

~~~

Daenerys was pacing. She had allowed herself to be talked into holding her dragons off. To keep Drogon and Rhaegal off the field as long as possible. After the parley last night she had been even more against that. 

Seeing all of them gathered like that had untethered something within her. She hadn’t slept even an hour last night; she just kept replaying the way Sansa Stark had somehow looked more like a Queen than Daenerys had ever felt since she had arrived in Westeros. She didn’t understand. Seeing Jon and Sansa with the crowns resting on their heads, realizing their coronation had happened, it infuriated her. Retrospectively it seemed inevitable with this rebellion but it seemed to her that she should have foreseen this years ago.

But hadn’t she? Hadn’t she always feared the Starks, wished to take them out but allowed herself to be talked down by her advisors? And now, here was her chance to take them all out once and for all and she was taking a back seat, sitting in a tent when she should have Drogon and Rhaegal in the skies, burning down the battlefield. 

“Your grace, once the dragons are deployed you won’t be able to save your own men, everyone will be burned,” Varys said, infuriatingly calm and rational.

She didn’t want to be calm and she didn’t want to be rational. She wanted justice and she wanted her throne to go uncontested.

Bran’s declaration of Jon’s parentage had struck a chord, and while nobody on her side had dared mention it in front of her she could feel the fact spreading like disease across Westeros. And her only option was to eliminate him, to dispose of him. She had given him the chance once to rule Westeros at her side, but he had done this when he chose Sansa Stark and now he would pay. 

Daenerys lets a breath out shakily, “Our men are losing. Slowly but they are, right Grey Worm? That is what you just came back to report, that eventually we will be overwhelmed. Is it not better now to do it before we lose so many? The Greyjoy complication is keeping the Golden Company from joining us at present.”

In the corner of the tent Tyrion stirs in his shackles. 

Bringing him here had been a risk. But a risk she was unwilling to not take. Tyrion had been the one to suggest bringing in the Golden Company, as best to exploit the notice they had received, to better prepare and to more than double their forces. She didn’t know how Tyrion had managed the gold but he had. And she wasn’t about to leave him unattended back in King’s Landing, not with Cersei lurking and his ability to sweet talk any guard. 

But now Tyrion’s plan was failing, and she seethed at his past betrayal and his present failings. 

“How is it that you didn’t foresee that the Greyjoy fleet would come to Blackwater Bay, Lord Tyrion? Care to enlighten us,” Daenerys turns her glare to him. 

Tyrion cowers and says deferentially, “Your grace, I assumed they would think it too much of a risk to come to King’s Landing directly, I gambled that they would deploy them on land. It was a mistake, but the Golden Company is breaking away. The Greyjoys can’t hold them forever, they will come.”

She hears the “Have patience” that he doesn’t say at the end. And is more annoyed than she was before. 

She looks around the room. Tyrion in shackles, betrayer. Varys, useful in the past but distant and useless in the present. Grey Worm, seemingly uncommitted despite following all her orders. Missandei. Even Missandei has seemed off recently, closed off, she doesn’t know that she can confide in the woman any longer. And then Jorah. Loyal and steadfast, with her to the end. 

“Ser Jorah, ready your horse. Take me to Drogon. I will take to the skies now, whether the rest of you deem it pertinent or not. I will assess the skies and decide from there, on my own, if the battlefield will be burnt,” Daenerys says, her blood boiling. 

She doesn’t even spare a glance at those in the tent. Jorah exits, following her order instantaneously and she turns her back on the rest. All at once no longer caring for their opinions.

She steps out of the tent, pulls herself onto Jorah’s horse, and rides towards her children. Already prepared for the heat of the flame.

~~~

War was shit. It was a conclusion that Arya came to rather quickly. Upon reflection all her fighting had been one on one with the exception of the Long Night. But that hadn’t been battling men, they had been fighting the dead and on top of that she had been so preoccupied with the Night King that she saw little of the actual fighting. 

This was chaos. Men were falling on both sides, but both sides were also putting up a strong fight. She had seen the Tyrell force, followed by the Martells, and to Arya’s fear but also hope, the men of the Stormlands.

Gendry.

Gendry was here somewhere on the battlefield. As all three of those armies had joined and merged into the fighting it was one never ending cycle of blood and death. And all Arya could think about was finding him. She couldn’t even be bothered to wonder about the dragons, about why Jon didn’t have Rhaegal or about where Daenerys and Drogon were. There was simply too much going on. 

Suddenly a sword is swinging right towards her and Arya has to lay her body flat to her horse to avoid having her head cut off. Unluckily for her though the sword ricochets and hits her horse, knocking her off balance, sending her horse running and her tumbling to the ground. 

She thinks she might have cracked a rib, and she feels blood gushing from a gash on her leg. A quick assessment proves it to not be deep, and before she can fully reorient herself. Arya is on her feet and running. She’s running as fast as she can, dodging everyone around her. Thanking her slight frame and nimble feet that she is able to go unnoticed.

But with her horse gone she is fucked. Everyone around her is on a saddle, the soldiers fighting on foot off in the distance. She needs to get out of here if she hopes to stay conscious and not get a hoof to the head or chest. 

She makes it out into a small parting that is slightly elevated when she notices there is fighting going on far to the East. She swears that the soldiers are gold, glittering and the others dressed in black and bronze, Greyjoys. But who are they fighting with? It’s too far in the distance but she can sense the whole battle is coming towards them, and she can tell, even from a distance that there are many more gold than there are black and bronze. The thought worries her.

But then she is being thrown to the ground again. Landing hard and splitting open her chin on a rock. She isn’t so quick to raise this time but it probably saves her life. A group of men on horses had rode past her as she lay in the dirt and when she stood she was alone again. 

She planned to turn back to the Greyjoys but then she saw him.

Gendry was there, fighting two of Daenerys’ men, a Tyrell soldier and one of her Targaryen loyalists from the smaller houses in the Crownlands that had joined her in this fight. 

Gendry was swinging his war hammer and before she could process that he was here she was screaming. In one moment Gendry hit the Tyrell soldier flat in the chest and sent him flying into the air, Arya didn’t see him land. But at the same moment the Targaryen soldier speared Gendry and all Arya could see was blood, blood gushing from his chest and a scream so primal and feral ripped from her that she didn’t even realize she had sprung from the ground. She catapulted herself towards the man before he could flee, clinging to his back while he still sat his horse and slit his neck before he knew what had happened or who had attacked him. 

Just as quick she was off the horse and stumbling over to Gendry who had slipped from his horse and was bleeding on the ground. 

She didn’t even think to check his wound, her mind was so scattered. 

“Gendry! Gendry, are you okay? We need to get you back to the medical tent!”

Arya scrambles onto her hands and knees, pulling herself to him and realizing her hands are dripping in his blood. 

“Arya?” Gendry is confused, startled and still reeling from his injury but at least he’s conscious.

“I’m here,” And she starts applying pressure to the wound, hoping it’s enough, ripping fabric from her own tunic to tie it around him. 

“Where—where did you come from?” Gendry seems to be fighting to stay awake. 

“Shut up idiot! Save your strength!”

“Arya. Arya,” He grips her hand then, surprisingly strong, “I’m sorry… should’ve come… with you… idiot… I am.”

He closes his eyes and Arya grabs his face then. 

“Gendry! Gendry, don’t you die on me!” She’s frantic. 

Gendry’s eyes open again then. 

She kisses him, tries to kiss life into him, pouring all her regret, passion and love into the man she can’t afford to lose. Just for a moment, to restart his heart. To keep him awake. 

“I should be the one apologizing,” And she’s staunching the wound, moving his chest so she can tie the fabric around his torso, “I want it all Gendry. You with me, in Winterfell. I don’t care that you’re a bastard. You know that! And you have to survive so I can have that, and so that I can apologize right. Don’t die on me Gendry!”

Her words come out quick, in a rush. 

Gendry smiles at her then, “Whatever you say, my Lady.”

And with a laugh escaping his mouth he passes out.

Arya lets out a sob then. Holds him to her and looks around, willing someone to come and get them to safety. 

And then she hears it. A roar that can only belong to one thing. She looks to the sky and there he is. Not Rhaegal, but Drogon. Daenerys’ white hair whipping in the wind out from behind him.

The last thing Arya sees before she closes her eyes, pulling Gendry into her, is Drogon’s mouth opening a hiss of what she assumes to be dragon fire ready to burn the field and the war around her down with it. 

~~~

After what felt like hours of hopeless attempts Jon thought he felt something. He had made it to the clearing in under two hours despite Bran’s estimates. It was an odd place. As if the trees had just stopped growing. The grass was mysteriously short and he felt utterly alone. It wasn’t as strange as the feeling of being absent from a battle though. 

He had tried to reach out to Rhaegal all night, calling that feeling he had had when Daenerys had taken him flying so many years ago now. He knew then, about his birth, and about what that meant. He could feel it then, the way his blood had called to Drogon, not unlike the way it once had to Ghost when he still stood by Jon’s side. 

But last night had been fruitless. He felt as if he were screaming into the void. He knew that the dragons had to be out there, somewhere. Daenerys was nowhere near confident enough to come to the war without them and she was nowhere near strong enough to think she stood a chance without them. 

Bran had warned him that Daenerys’ hold was strong, but that the bond of rider and dragon was stronger. It just needed time. Once Rhaegal was in the air he should come to Jon. That’s why he was out in this clearing for hours, focusing on the dragon within.

Jon had spent the last few years trying to forget what resided in his blood. But he was coming to understand that maybe what would be best is if he could accept who his blood father had been, and in that fact find the strength to embrace his true father’s family all the harder. As Sansa had reminded him, not for the first time, he was a direwolf, before anything else he was a Stark. And as a Stark he had to have the strength to trick a dragon.

And that something he had felt was growing. Jon had heard the first sounds of battle and had had to fight even harder than he would’ve if he were there, to not go running. He was needed here. But as he had waited his restlessness had grown as well. After what must have been another hour though, that first tremor had shook his bones and he knew the dragons had been released.

And then the feeling was growing, his heart was hammering and he heard wings. Wings batting in the distance. 

Jon’s eyes flew open, he had kept them slammed shut for hours now, focusing all his energy on calling out. And when they opened now it was outside his control. Right above him was Rhaegal, and he was landing.

Rhaegal! Rhaegal! Jon called out, but only in his mind. 

The dragon circled, the clearing was big enough for him but barely, if he wasn’t careful he could crush Jon but Jon felt oddly calm and safe. He somehow knew that Rhaegal sensed him as well and would not harm him.

And then Rhaegal was on the ground. Staring Jon down and Jon was reaching out to this magnificent, terrifying beast, hesitantly and then with confidence. Patting his scales as he would a dog or as he had Ghost. Rhaegal made a noise of contentment and lifted his neck towards the sky, beckoning Jon to get on his back. 

And as Jon mounted him, and Rhaegal took off to the skies, dragon and rider were reunited once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few things.
> 
> First, I have no clue how the whole dragon bond thing works and made all of this up for the sake of my fic, so full disclosure on that haha. But it did seem at least somewhat plausible to me. 
> 
> Next, I also don't know the logistics about the Golden company, but I needed to bring in some defense to avoid an utter slaughter of Daenerys' forces so again, suspension of disbelief please. 
> 
> Also, the parley scene was the hardest for me to write and I'm not entirely happy with it. Usually my writing just flows out and this was very jerky and annoying in general :/
> 
> As well, action is not my specialty and there will be more coming next chapter...so please bare with me haha, it is part of why this has been the hardest chapter to write, I'm much better at the sitting down, talking and planning, the emotional talks and the strategy. But I'm doing my best!
> 
> Lastly, I have fully mapped the rest of this fic, and I predict about 19-20 chapters including an epilogue. I'm really excited for you all to see the rest of the story but I'm also excited that I can see the finish line in my future. I'm having such fun with this fic!!
> 
> As always, leave me a comment. I love hearing your thoughts and appreciate all the positive feedback I've received on this fic. :) If you like this story and haven't checked out my other one shots I highly recommend checking them out, I also plan on posting another one shot soon, a bit different, still Jonsa but a different take so be on the look out for that. Thanks!


	14. the room is on fire, invisible smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no point in waiting. Let's get into it!

Daenerys mounted Drogon and felt like every stress in her body was leaving her, sliding off her down Drogon’s scales. She had told everyone that she would assess the situation in the air, but in reality she couldn’t foresee a situation in which she didn’t rain down dragon fire. Anything for her crown. Anything to put a stop to rebellion and anything to snuff out the hope of the other side. If they were counting on her showing mercy then they were mistaken. 

As she gripped onto Drogon’s back she looked at Ser Jorah once. This man who has been her staunchest supporter, even after his long ago betrayals. This man who she would depend on to shield her back, no matter what. And she smiled, a smile of genuine serenity and peace. 

“Thank you!” She shouted down from her perch.

And in that thank you was more than just bringing her here, now. But a thank you for years of servitude and loyalty. For never doubting her and for being her rock when all around her crumbled. 

“Fly true, Khaleesi,” Jorah nods at her and pulls the reins on his horse, turning around and heading back towards the encampment.

Daenerys is suddenly alone. She closes her eyes and takes in a breath. This is the moment that she has waited for, whether she knew it or not, since coming to Westeros. To show the people, once and for all, the might of her dragons. That you do not go up against a dragon and hope to live. It is an impossibility. She had reclaimed her throne and now it is time to defend that throne, at the expense of others, innocents if it came to that.

After all, there is no price too great when you are a Targaryen. Fire and Blood are her words, let them see that today, she thinks.

And so she grips Drogon harder. Instructs him to fly upward and to bring her to the battlefield. He complies instantly. Rhaegal on the other hand remains grounded. She shouts, then, instructing him to follow and fly. He looks at her, her eyes meeting those of her other Dragon, the one named for her first brother, the brother she never knew. (And Jon’s father, she thinks with disgust.) For one moment their eyes lock and Rhaegal is almost unknown to her. She feels a visceral pain shoot through her, strangely, but then she is being lifted up, rising into the sky atop Drogon and she has no more time to consider the oddity. Rhaegal is on the move as well and she notices him fly off, taking another route she is sure, to hit their targets from both sides. She thinks of him no more. 

And as she rises up she sees, what feels like, all of Westeros. She so rarely gets to ride now and so she basks in this moment. She thinks that if she looks far enough South she can see Sunspear’s palace. If she turns her gaze North that she can see Winterfell and even to the wall or that if she turns East she’ll see all the way back to Essos. But she won’t, she can never look back. Especially not now. 

So she turns her gaze towards the battle. It’s hard to see what all is happening from this high but they are making quick time and she is almost above the biggest part of the horde. She can see that the Golden Company has mostly joined in the fighting, the Greyjoys no longer to hold them. She sees a sea of colour, all the different houses and armies. Mostly united against her, she thinks. But with her dragons every man on the battlefield could stand against her and it wouldn’t matter. 

So she signals Drogon to descend, to bring them closer to the ground. And she can hear, vaguely, a change in the sound. She hears terror, raising voices, shrieks and screams. They have seen her, they shrink under her might. And she basks for another moment, basks in the way she can feel their fear, the way they think death zooms towards them, unstoppable. And they aren’t wrong, it does come for them and this makes it all the better for her. 

She thinks she will make the first pass easy, give them a chance to reconsider. She doesn’t know if it’s the fear that gives her this small sense of compassion but she thinks she doesn’t need to let the whole field ablaze quite so soon. And besides. Where is the fun if it is over so quickly?

Her and Drogon come closer to the ground and fly over the armies, men stop fighting to stare up at them, or to run away in fear. 

And then she breathes out, “Dracarys.”

She feels Drogon’s mouth open and she peeks out from behind him. She feels the heat gathering underneath his body, flowing through him to come out his mouth. And then. 

Daenerys is flying, she is flying and falling. There is air all around her, she has been unseated and she can’t discern which way is up or down. Her head is spinning but before she can even fully process that she is falling through the air she hits something. Hard and scaly. Drogon. 

And they are soaring upwards again, away from the crowd. Daenerys is trying to get her bearings, confused from her sudden catapult, over too quickly for her to understand, but she was thrown from Drogon’s back and then he flew back, to catch her? But how?

She looks around. The first thing she sees is Rhaegal. Rhaegal attacked them? Both dragons are flying in circles, circling each other growling and snarling but Drogon seems confused in this turn of events, hesitant to strike out and dodging any move Rhaegal makes. This is his brother? What in seven hells?

Daenerys catches the sight of a cloak swinging out from behind Rhaegal. And suddenly she knows. There is no question.

Jon.

The only one who could ever do this. Who would be capable of a betrayal of this magnitude. The only one with the blood to ensure Rhaegal’s loyalty. And it was her own fault wasn’t it? She had let him ride Rhaegal, even so long ago now? The bond of dragon and rider is deep, how had she not foreseen this?

The dragons are still circling but suddenly she is furious. All the emotion she has bottled up over the last months spilling out from her in a primal scream. It pierces the airs and both Drogon and Rhaegal seem affected, angling towards their enraged mother. 

But before she can do more, before she can command Drogon to rip, to tear and burn the man in front of her, regardless of the cost to her other child (he’s betrayed her like all the rest, Rhaegal is no more), before she can do anything, Jon yells. 

“Daenerys! Stop this! It’s over! You won’t hurt Rhaegal!”

She barely knows how she can hear him over the roar of the Dragons, but she does. And his words give her pause. She is infuriated at his presumptuous tone. Her chest is heaving with her rage and she knows she must look undone, the mad Queen they have said her to be, finally a fair assessment. But Jon’s words. She is angry. Angry at Rhaegal. But Rhaegal is a beast, her child, but a beast all the same. And he cannot control his actions. Not with magic old like this. What she needs is time. A half baked plan is forming in her mind, a way to ensure she doesn’t have to kill Rhaegal but one that she can still buy herself time with. 

Before Jon can compel her further she is grabbing Drogon tight, steering him away and commanding him to fly her far. To fly her to Tyrion. She doesn’t spare a glance for Jon. Or for Rhaegal. 

~~~

Arya opens her eyes and sees not one but two dragons. When she realized she hadn’t been burnt to a crisp she had wondered if she had simply not felt it, if she was dead already. But above her two dragons were colliding. She saw a streak of white blonde hair flying through the air and then nothing as the dragons rose higher. 

In all the stress of this it took her a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. Two dragons. Fighting each other.

Jon.

Jon has saved them all and she lets out a choked sob. A sigh of relief. They will be able to overcome Daenerys’ forces, she is sure of this now. Jon has succeeded and all he needs to do now is survive Drogon and Daenerys. 

Her relief turns to dread quickly when she remembers she is still clinging to Gendry’s body. Soon to be Gendry’s corpse if she doesn’t receive assistance and quick. 

And as if the gods answered her request on demand, two Northern men on horses stop right in front of her. 

“Lady Stark? Lady Stark is that you?” One of them speaks and sounds panicked. 

She peers up at them, recognizes them, but can’t bring forth their names with everything else clogging up her mind. 

“Save him, help him. Please,” Her voice is raspy, barely a whisper and she feels for the first time that she is exhausted as well. 

And then the men are dismounting, they are lifting Gendry, peeling back Arya’s fingers and assuring her he will be fine but that she needs to let him go. She watches, as if far off, as they tie him to one of their horses. They look back to her. One of them coming to a decision and lifting her up. Lifting the woman who will be their Lady when all of this is over and she lets out a bit of a hysterical laugh at the thought.

“My lady? Are you quite alright, have you hit your head?”

Arya just shakes her head slightly, too burnt out to speak again. She is being placed on the other horse and both men mount their horses with them. Riding them towards the tent they have erected which houses their medicines and Maesters. 

At some point on the horse Arya dozes off but it is not for long because when she wakes she is laying on an uncomfortable cot and two Maesters are working frantically over Gendry beside her, they’ve clearly only just arrived. 

And in a daze, Arya is stumbling out of the bed. The other occupants of the tent are all watching Gendry and so she makes her way to the left side of his bed, both maesters are working on his right, where his wound is, and it’s the only place she has enough room. She takes Gendry’s hand. It’s cold.

One of the maesters catches her eye, “Lady Stark—”

“Leave her be,” says an authoritative voice.

Arya vaguely turns her head and recognizes that her Uncle Edmure is standing before her. He has sustained a head wound but otherwise looks unharmed. He makes his way towards his niece, places a hand on her shoulder.

“I was just finished being examined and heard that you were brought in not minutes ago. I’m glad to see you are alright though,” Edmure squeezes her shoulder then. 

She just looks up at him, back to Gendry.

“Aye, this is the Baratheon lad right? I think he’ll make it Arya,” Edmure reassures her and the maesters seem to hum an agreement. 

“Waters,” Arya whispers, “Gendry Waters. Not Baratheon.”

Edmure just stares at her strangely then, smiles softly.

“Alright dear,” Edmure looks around the tent, sits down on Arya’s now unoccupied cot, “I’m in no shape to go back out there. I might as well stay here and look after you. If for nothing else then knowing Cat would have me killed if I left you in this state.”

They sit silently for a few minutes. The maesters finish their work, they’ve stopped the bleeding and tell Arya that all they can do is wait, hope that Gendry wakes up but that they have others to attend to. 

When they leave Edmure speaks again. 

“That was Jon? On the dragon I was being told about? I must have been hauled off just before they arrived,” Edmure asks her. 

And then Arya feels as if she’s being knocked off her horse all over again. Jon. She has completely forgotten.

She’s standing before she realizes what she is doing, Gendry’s hand falling from her grasp.

“Jon, I have to—”

“Woah woah woah,” Edmure is grabbing Arya, sitting her back down, “There’s nothing any of us can do now but wait. I imagine the fact that we haven’t yet been burnt is good. Have faith in Jon. I do.”

And so she does. Arya sits back down, retakes Gendry’s hand and distracts herself by wondering what the hell she will tell him when he wakes up.

~~~

Daenerys is running, sprinting as fast as her legs can take her. Pure adrenaline is running through her veins pushing her forward. She had landed Drogon as near as she could to their encampment but he needed room and she doesn’t have time to waste. 

The people around her, the injured and those not fighting, are looking at her and murmuring but she can’t even bring herself to care or wonder why. 

She rips open the tent flaps and finds them. Jorah, Missandei, Tyrion, and Varys. Grey Worm must have returned to the battlefield, but she wonders why Jorah is not with him. She can only wonder for a second though because then everyone is moving. 

Jorah is gripping her in his arms and breathing into her ear, “Khaleesi.”

She looks around the tent and sees the shocked expressions of the rest of them.

“We thought you were dead,” Missandei’s voice is trembling, “That you fell… we saw… a flash of white.”

And Daenerys understands now, why Jorah retreated here, why the crowds looked at her in awe. They thought she had fallen from Drogon, that she was buried somewhere on the battlefield. Their Queen, taken out so easily. 

Jorah releases her and she speaks, “I did fall, but Drogon caught me, none of that matters now. Jon Snow has Rhaegal.”

There is silence for one moment, then everyone is speaking at once. 

“That bastard.”

“I thought so… when we saw Rhaegal attack it made no sense.”

“Clever, cunning…”

The last remark comes from Varys and she doesn’t have time to think about the expression on his usually guarded face, the one of wonder. 

“We need time. I cannot use Drogon against Rhaegal without putting them both at risk. Without putting myself at risk if I’m being honest,” Daenerys admits this, “I almost attacked in the sky but I fear that all of us would have fallen. Both dragons yes but Jon and I too.”

They all look at her. Nobody understanding quite where she is going. 

“If I bring Drogon back to the battle, Jon will attack me with Rhaegal. Again and again. It will buy them more time to decimate our forces. We need to retreat, restrategize and figure out how to get Rhaegal back, and quickly while we still have forces worth using to fight,” Daenerys is speaking faster now. 

“Your grace,” Varys says slowly, “They won’t retreat, they will see it as a surrender and continue to push as long as they have the advantage.”

“That’s what I’m saying! We need time. And to get time we need to have the upper hand, in order to make them stop the fighting. At least for the time being,” Daenerys is smiling now. 

Jorah starts first, “For the time being Jon Snow will remain in the skies on Rhaegal, in case you unground Drogon again.”

This is not fast enough Daenerys thinks and she prods them further, “Everyone is still distracted with the battle and Jon is in the skies.”

And then Tyrion glances up at her from his chains. The look they exchange tells her that he’s put together the pieces.

“You need a hostage,” Tyrion says, voice low, “An important hostage.”

Daenerys just nods. She knew, when she came here that she would need Tyrion more than anyone. That beyond all he would come to the same conclusion. She had accepted she would have to make her peace with him temporarily for this. But it would be worth it in the end. 

“You need Sansa Stark,” Tyrion lets out a long breath at the grim conclusion.

“Your grace—” Varys starts.

“Do not try to dissuade me Lord Varys. Do not dare. The bloody Starks have pushed me to act with such callousness. If we hesitate now we will not have the forces to fight this war tomorrow, and we must win this war, at any cost. Sansa Stark is their rallying point. Sansa and Jon both, but without her, they will crumble. And she is the only one they would stop fighting for, to protect her,” Daenerys is moving now, coming to stand in front of Tyrion.

“If I trust you with this,” Daenerys looks at the man she once considered her closest advisor, “You will not betray me again, and you will not fail me now.”

Tyrion only stares at her for half a heartbeat. Then he is on one knee and she is struck by the image of the time she made him her hand. For the moment she is content in this nostalgia of a simpler time. 

“It would be my honour, Your Grace,” Tyrion rises, “Let us commence the kidnapping of Sansa Stark.”

Daenerys turns back to the others, her eyes alight with dragonfire she is sure. Varys looks as impassive as ever but maybe with a hint of anxiety, she can’t be sure. Missandei too looks as if she is trying desperately to control her emotions, but she is not nearly as adept at it as Varys. Her worry is evident but that is to be expected Daenerys thinks, the plan is not without risk. And Grey Worm is still on the battlefield. Jorah, resolute, looks ready for what is to come. 

“We must act swiftly, the window is narrow now. The fighting remains thick enough for us to succeed but we will have little time to plan, and there is no room for error. I would say we need to be moving in the next ten minutes to make this worth our while and to have the battle halted within the hour,” Tyrion starts and Daenerys nods at him. 

And so they plan as quickly as they can and when they succeed, when Sansa is at their mercy, even Daenerys will think back to this moment and be amazed that they pulled it off. 

~~~

Sansa is tense. Their tent is far off, out of the way enough that they are away from the fighting but near enough to be consulted for any last minute plan alterations. Herself, Bran, Brienne, Arianne, and Cersei have been here all morning. They have received many messages during this time but nobody that is dear to the people in the tent has fallen, that they know of, not yet. 

And Sansa knows that this group is strange. The tension is like a current between Brienne and Cersei, much unsaid between these two drastically different women. Cersei is styled in a Lannister crimson, an armored bodice not unlike the one she wore on the battle of Blackwater. The sight brings Sansa back to the events of that night, how she thought she might have been saved if things went differently.

Brienne on the other hand is dressed in armor, she stands in the mouth of the tent, trying to catch glimpses of the far off battle and preparing herself to protect them if any rogue soldiers break free of the fighting and find them. She loves Brienne, she really does, but she wishes more than anything that she had been able to convince her sworn shield to fight. She knows it is where she longs to be but she won’t dishonour her vows even though Sansa has told her she is not. She had even tried reminding her that she had promised to serve Arya as well, but this was met with the vehement response that Arya needed less protecting in the wake of a battle than Sansa and she had had to concede this point despite how it angered her. 

As for the other people with her, Bran had been statue-like since the battle started and Sansa thought he was likely trying to see, even though he believed the power lost to him, his visions had been returning somewhat and if he could control them at all now would be ideal. And then there was Arianne. She was almost jovial and Sansa was thankful for it. The woman she was rapidly considering a close friend was more confident than any of them had the right to be.

Sansa had withdrawn to her seat and Arianne came to sit beside her. Arianne had dressed more practical than Cersei but more feminine than Brienne. She was in a tunic and loose fitted riding pants, both a bottle green that suited her, that allowed for movement if they needed to flee. And she had armor around her torso that was less a fashion statement than Cersei’s. 

“Jon will be fine you know,” Arianne rested her hand on Sansa’s knee. Over the dress that feels foolish in the wake of Arianne’s ensemble. Sansa is dressed more similarly to Cersei in all honesty but in all blacks and greys, not wasting beautifully coloured fabrics for such an event.

“You can’t know that,” Sansa nearly snaps at her but then softens and apologizes. 

“I know that he loves you and that he will do anything to get back to you. Arya as well. Your family has a way of surviving the impossible,” Arianne smiles wryly. 

Sansa feels that the sentiment is bittersweet. So much of her family has been killed and yet Arianne is right, those that remain have had so much luck in their survival. Sansa wonders then. 

“Does it not bother you? Not being with your people during all this?”

Arianne has seemed so solitary, so resolute, that Sansa has had little time to consider this fact with everything else on her mind but now she wants to know.

Arianne looks reflective and then as if she is speaking to some time far and long away she opens her mouth.

“Most of my family is dead. I have distant relatives but the heart of the Martell line has been uprooted. My brothers… my father and mother. The Dornish people are loyal to me and I have an incredibly devout group of advisors and soldiers, it is why I didn’t double back to join with the Dornish and Stormland forces, I felt of more use here and I can trust them. But that feeling of family. It is something that has been elusive to me for quite some time. I don’t know what will happen to Dorne when I’m gone, I have no heir as of yet.”

Sansa feels her heart ache. She looks around the tent. Bran is sitting in the corner with his eyes closed and Cersei is pacing on the other side of the room, oblivious to Arianne’s words. Brienne is still outside. 

“Arianne… I’m sorry. I’ve been so lucky to have some of my family come back to me. But for a long time I believed myself the last Stark. That loneliness, if you ever need someone to talk to, to confide in. When all this is over, I will be here for you,” Sansa says and she clasps Arianne’s hand between both of her own, drawing Arianne’s eyes towards hers. 

“Thank you Sansa,” Arianne’s eyes are wet, “The songs about you are true. The Queen of Winter: fair as snow and a look that can freeze as cold as ice but with a heart that burns as bright as her hair.”

Sansa blushes at this, having heard the songs in the wind since her and Jon’s coronation. They call him the King of Winter, protector of his pack and more wolf than man. (Not nearly as poetic as her own lines, but she remembers when they said the same thing about Robb. She hopes that it brings Jon some happiness, to be compared to the brother he held most dear, to have that honour and realize his place as a Stark once and for all.)

Sansa and Arianne both rise then, seeming to decide that the times for woe must be placed aside and walk to the mouth of the tent. Cersei pays them no mind and Bran stays silent in his chair. 

“No word?” Sansa asks Brienne as they step outside.

“No riders since the last, Your Grace,” Brienne says without taking her gaze off the distant battle. 

Sansa nods. They had had a few missives. In truth, their job here was that of a last resort. With how hectic the battlefield is they needed a place to communicate if anything went off course and hasty decisions needed to be made. Those who weren’t fighting, namely Sansa, Cersei, and Arianne were to be trusted with deciding this if need be. 

They’d been told that the Tyrells had joined in the fighting, followed closely by the Martell forces and those of the Stormlands. They’d also been told that they were winning, but slowly, the other forces putting up a good fight. 

Next, someone had arrived to tell them that the Greyjoys were far off and that they appeared to be fighting the Golden Company, trying to keep them at bay. It was not something that Sansa or anyone else had foreseen, it was a complication but not one that was war ending. She was eternally grateful that they had sent the Greyjoy fleet off to Blackwater Bay or they would’ve been taken completely off guard. Now they knew. 

And there had been no word of dragons. Drogon or Rhaegal. 

Sansa didn’t know what to think of this, she was surprised that Drogon hadn’t been deployed and anxious for Jon. She knew he would be anxious himself, unable to know what was happening if he couldn’t control Rhaegal. Something was odd and it was starting to concern her. But then.

“Look!” Arianne breathes out and points to the sky. 

Far off, a massive black beast, storming the air and Sansa feels dread rise in her stomach. She knows it is not Rhaegal but Drogon. 

At Arianne’s words Bran rolls himself out and Cersei exits as well. They all hold their breath. 

And suddenly it’s like a dream. It happens in what feels like a blink. Drogon is roaring and ready to burn the soldiers below him and then he is being knocked off course by another beast, faster than Sansa had ever seen the dragons move in the past. She hears exhales around her but she just tenses more. Jon is on that dragon. Jon has Rhaegal. Victory. Danger. Elation. Fear. All these feelings are rooting Sansa to the spot and then she feels Bran’s hand on her arm. 

“It is as it is supposed to be sister, we can do nothing now,” He says in what she thinks is supposed to be a soothing voice but it doesn’t help her calm down at all. 

And then, as quickly as the battle in the sky begins it is over and Drogon is retreating. It confuses Sansa more than anything else that has happened today. She sees Rhaegal hovering, flapping his wings and then Jon must make the decision not to follow because Rhaegal starts to circle. Watching the battle and Drogon’s retreating form. 

“Well. At least he has the dragon. All we can do now is wait for the fighting to be done, she won’t risk her dragon’s lives now,” Cersei says, with little emotion, Sansa can read her worry. She wants Jaime to return sooner rather than later. 

Cersei marches back into the tent and strangely Arianne follows her, glancing at Sansa and just giving her a small nod. Perhaps she thinks it is Cersei who needs the encouragement now. Bran pauses, takes his hand off Sansa’s arm and retreats as well. Only Sansa and Brienne remain. 

“It is what we have wanted, what we hoped for,” Brienne says but there is something catching in her voice.

“But why did she retreat so quickly? I’ve never known Daenerys to have that immediate impulse control…” Sansa trails off and searches the sky for an answer she doesn’t have, “it’s like she didn’t even try.”

And Brienne has no answer either, she just looks to her Queen and stays silent. Fearful of what may come for them now.

~~~

The tent remains quiet for the better part of an hour. They receive nobody and only hear the fighting continue far off in the distance. When Sansa had returned to the tent, if Arianne and Cersei had been talking they were finished when she entered. Bran had returned to his corner, closing his eyes and seemingly lost to the world. Cersei resumed pacing but with less tension in her shoulders than before. And Arianne had gone to the only table, taken out some parchment and began writing. How she could manage such in a time like this absolutely floored Sansa, but she let her be and drew up a chair on the far side of the tent. 

She isn’t looking up when Cersei approaches. 

“If we survive this, we’ll have had enough war for both our lifetimes. And yet war seems inevitable. A never ceasing beast that must be nurtured,” Cersei says as she plops into the seat beside Sansa, finally ceasing her pacing. 

Sansa doesn’t respond. Unsure of what she thinks. She agrees that they’ve had enough war for their lives but she also hopes that war won’t follow them, that they can break the cycle. Cersei has always been cynical though, even now. 

“I often wished I’d been born a man,” Sansa raises her eyebrows at Cersei’s proclamation, “Not now so much but when I was younger. Jaime received everything that I wanted and was respected for half the work I put in. And times like these, I know nothing of battle, at least if I were there I wouldn’t be in the dark.”

Sansa nods but she has to disagree, “I wouldn’t change being a woman. I’ve been ridiculed much my life for it, giving it up would be like giving in to all those who doubted me.”

But it’s more than that. Sansa takes pride in her skills and recognizes that battle and physical strength are not where hers lie. But she does many things that the men she knows couldn’t dream of, and for her that is enough. She has long since stopped hating what others perceive as weakness in her. It does her no good. 

“Yes, it doesn’t surprise me you find strength in that. And women have other weapons, don’t we?” Something old and withering is brought up in Cersei’s eyes at that and Sansa recalls a conversation she might otherwise have forgotten. 

Instead she just smiles. 

Cersei sighs, “Daenerys is a traitor to our sex, people will long remember her cruelty and use it to discredit us all.”

Sansa thinks that Cersei making this comment is ironic considering the woman’s own transgressions but it’s not the time to press the point. She just shakes her head. 

“Daenerys would’ve been who she is, born man or born woman. I have heard of her brother Viserys, he was no better. Only stupider perhaps,” Sansa lets out half a laugh. 

“Well, I can’t fault her for that. We all are known to have stupid brothers,” Cersei’s eyes have a glint in them, “And I’m not talking about Tyrion either.”

A pause. Then both women break out in hysterics. Sansa has never known Cersei to be one to make a joke but gods it had been a good one. Arianne looks over at them quizzically. 

Before either woman can speak however, several things happen in quick succession. 

There is a sudden loud thump outside the front of the tent. All three women’s heads turn towards it in unison and they all stand together, suddenly unsure. Sansa grabs a dagger on the table in front of her, one someone left absentmindedly, not thinking that any of the women here would be trained to use it properly. It feels out of place and awkward in her grasp. 

Then Bran yells, as if torn from a nightmare, “Sansa!”

Sansa’s eyes find Bran’s then and she feels her stomach drop. Bran looks absolutely paralyzed. In a moment she realizes how helpless his injury has left him. Sansa cannot fight but she can run, she can try to defend herself, Bran is dependent on his chair and those around him. She doesn’t have long to consider this because she sees in his eyes something even worse. She doesn’t know how but she knows that he has seen something, something related to the fire he told her about, what feels like many years ago now. 

“She is coming,” Bran says, his voice is quiet. 

A sweat breaks out across Sansa’s forehead because Bran requires no further explanation for this. There is only one ‘she’. 

Arianne and Cersei seem to have not taken in their exchange though, they are still moving towards the tent flaps. And Sansa can hardly believe that less than a minute has passed. She still clutches the dagger. She gives one look to Bran, knows she can do nothing, and follows Arianne and Cersei outside. 

In front of their tent Brienne has collapsed. She is on the ground and Sansa doesn’t even perceive anything else, she is on her knees. She is frantic, she thinks she must be yelling and she is looking for a pulse, for breath, for anything. She feels hot tears welling up inside her. Do not let this woman who has been so important to her for so long, do not let her be dead. 

She is panicking and suddenly Cersei is yanking her off and telling her to collect herself, to remain calm. And Arianne bends down to examine Brienne instead. 

Arianne plucks a strange looking dart from Brienne’s neck that escaped Sansa’s notice. 

“Poison,” Arianne says after flicking her tongue across the dart end. 

Before Sansa can absorb that, the idea and its implication, they hear horses. Several and moving fast, she thinks she can see them too but she isn’t quite sure, they’re coming from the trees and it’s hard to tell. She knows she has less than a minute. 

Brienne lays unconscious at her feet. Cersei still grips her arms from pulling her back, and Arianne looks up at Sansa helplessly from the ground, unsure of how to proceed with Brienne. Bran still remains in the tent. 

All at once, Sansa is at ease. She is a Queen and she will proceed as such. Focus on the task at hand, one step at a time, protect the others, and beyond all lead. She breaks free from Cersei’s grasp and turns to face the two of them.

“Arianne,” her voice comes out harsh and quick, “Take your horse, ride to the main encampment as quickly as possible. There is no time to argue, you are the fastest rider of us all, you are the only one who has the chance to make it. Go!”

Arianne looks at Sansa for one moment, absorbs the truth in her words. Arianne knows that all of them would be followed if they tried to escape together, and that they have no time to secure Bran’s riding harness either way. Sansa won’t leave without him. Cersei would slow Arianne’s impeccable skill down, and Sansa suspects that they come for her and her alone anyways. Arianne can escape, she must go now. She sees Arianne process all of this in the time of one breath and then she is running for her horse.

“I will return,” Arianne shouts, “I won’t leave you here Sansa!”

And Sansa hears her horse galloping away as quick as it can. 

The horses are closer now. But still just out of sight, that means they won’t be able to see Sansa yet either. Good. 

“Cersei, get inside. Now,” Sansa orders and moves to the tent herself.

She expects an argument but none comes. They enter the tent together, Cersei silent for once.

There is one cot in the far corner of the room and a few blankets. Sansa thinks quickly.

“Get under the cot, I’ll conceal you with the blankets. They come for me, but I’d wager Daenerys has told them with no uncertainty to take you as well if given the chance,” Sansa is ushering Cersei across the room at a quick pace, she hears the horses not far off. 

“How do you know—” Cersei gets cut off. 

“I have seen it in my visions,” Bran’s voice is grave coming from his chair and Sansa nearly forgot his presence. 

Cersei just stares at Sansa. She appears deep in thought. 

“We will come for you,” Cersei sounds certain, “Be safe. Little Dove.”

And she is disappearing under the bed, Sansa is throwing the blanket over top, and suddenly Cersei is hidden from view. Little Dove. It could be a cruel jape, but no. It is a reminder she thinks. A reminder that to survive what may come she must be ready to adopt and disguise herself as whatever endears her to Daenerys. She has played this game before and Cersei wouldn’t have her forget it. She may be a wolf but she has been a bird when it suited her, she can play and win again. If she keeps her wits about herself. 

She turns to her brother then. 

“I’m sorry Bran, I’m so sorry,” Sansa’s words fail her, “I won’t have you die for me.”

Bran stares at his sister and Sansa feels for the first time in a long time that it is only Bran, no lingering Three Eyed Raven, just her brother and he is scared. Sansa moves swiftly, kneels in front of him and takes his hand. He is quiet.

And his voice comes out barely a whisper, “They won’t take me. I’m sorry Sansa. I’ve failed you, if I had seen sooner…”

“There’s nothing to do now,” Sansa says this for Bran’s sake, she can’t be mad at him, not for this. 

Bran just looks at her sadly. 

“Promise me. Promise me you’ll look after them. Look after Arya and Jon for me. Don’t let them do anything stupid, they can’t come after me. Daenerys will have them killed. Promise me Bran,” Sansa is pleading now and she is scared now too. 

“I promise to try,” Bran says weakly, and Sansa is reminded that he is but barely a man. 

It is the best she can ask for. She embraces him for a brief moment and then she hears the horses right outside. Followed quickly by voices. 

“The Lady Knight has taken a nap I see,” Says a grizzly voice. 

There are several chuckles, then a voice she recognizes. 

“To the task at hand gentlemen, weapons ready,” Ser Jorah’s steady voice comes through and then the tent flap is being ripped open. 

At the same moment Sansa stands, she throws her dagger to the ground and kicks it out of view, deciding suddenly that she needs only her own weapons, her intellect. 

“I surrender,” She says instantly, raising her hands and accepting her fate. Anything to protect Bran. Anything to keep them from searching too hard for Cersei. 

There are four men including Jorah. The other three brutish and wicked looking. The sort Sansa has intimate familiarity with and she has no death wish, no desire to anger them unnecessarily. No, bring her to Daenerys, that is her only chance. 

Ser Jorah approaches her. 

“I mean you no harm Lady Stark. It is the business of our Queen. My orders are to bring you safely to her,” Jorah says, all seriousness and formality. 

“And I have no objection, let us go immediately,” Sansa says without lowering her head. Sharing eye contact with each man in turn. 

Jorah has shackles in front of him and Sansa raises her hands towards them. He cuffs her quickly and then pulls a gag out as well. 

“No chances, Lady Stark,” Jorah almost sounds regretful. 

She spares one glance to Bran and doesn’t let her voice tremble, “Tell them I love them Bran. Tell them I have loved them so much.” 

And then the gag is around her and she has no time to see Bran’s reaction. 

“What about him, Mormont? Do we leave the cripple?” The grizzly sounding man asks.

Jorah answers as he leads Sansa out of the tent, “Queen Daenerys’ orders were clear. Leave everyone as they are, take Sansa Stark only. Cersei Lannister if she is present. We leave both Ser Brienne and Brandon Stark here in peace, he will be here until Brienne wakes I should think. We saw Lady Arianne Martell fleeing and Cersei is nowhere to be found. We leave now.”

The other men seem somewhat disappointed at this news but they head towards their horses regardless. 

It is then that Sansa sees they have left someone on the horses. 

Tyrion Lannister, still in chains, is tied to one of the horses. One of the other men mounts the horse with Tyrion still attached in front of him. Sansa is being maneuvered into the same configuration with Jorah and she just stares. 

Her eyes burn with hatred for the man she once was forced to call a husband. Her heart screams as well, but she can’t speak a word of her fury with the gag snug around her. 

She is tied to the horse then and Jorah is mounting it behind her. She isn’t looking Tyrion’s way anymore but she hears his voice.

“I must admit Lady Stark, this is not the way I imagined us meeting again. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, I must say it is not how you thought your day would go either,” Tyrion says almost jokingly. 

Sansa seethes on the horse but she just closes her eyes. Starts trying to formulate a plan while she is taken to the Dragon Queen.

~~~

Sansa barely perceives anything around her as they take her far around the fighting and keep her out of sight of everyone on the battlefield. She has no naive wish that Arianne will have got there and back quick enough to stop them. She knows Arya and Jon are miles away, unable to help her even if they could. The battle has everyone preoccupied while their Queen is taken from under their noses. It had been a clever plan and one that Sansa imagines was last minute, it wouldn’t have worked otherwise, a crime of opportunity. 

Soon enough they are coming to a stop. And Sansa looks out in front of her. It is an encampment similar to their own. The tent she sees is obviously a bit more regal than those in the surrounding area, Daenerys has always had a flair for the dramatic. 

Jorah is dismounting and he has Sansa removed quickly as well. Her gag is released but her shackles remain firmly in place. She won’t waste her breath on words, not now.

Then Daenerys is running out of the tent, glee on her face and her eyes alight with burning hope, for one second appearing as she is a child being brought a gift she has pined ages for. She sees Sansa and her face breaks out into a look of contented smugness, the image slips away, innocence stripped. 

Grey Worm, Missandei, and Varys have emerged from the tent behind her. And Daenerys wastes no time. 

“Grey Worm, Jorah, go to the battlefields. Spread the word that we call for a ceasefire immediately unless they wish us to deliver them Sansa Stark’s charred bones,” Daenerys cannot keep the sound of victory out of her voice. 

Sansa thinks this must be something the other woman has dreamt of often. Finally being able to triumph over her, the Northern Daughter who bested her all those years ago. A wound that has never fully healed. 

Sansa is left then, as Jorah and Grey Worm depart, standing in front of the rest of them, shackled but with her head held high. The Dragon Queen will not have the pleasure of seeing her flinch. She imagines she is a great direwolf facing down its kill. 

“Let us go inside,” Tyrion says then, and Sansa realizes he has been dismounted as well but has the same shackles as Sansa on his hands. 

Sansa and the others step inside her tent, leaving the soldiers outside. 

Sansa remains near the entrance while the rest of them make themselves comfortable. Daenerys has a makeshift throne. A huge chair adorned with a pillow and throw blanket, she drapes herself across it and continues to stare smugly at Sansa. Tyrion follows her though and presents his shackles to her wordlessly. She breaks her gaze from Sansa for the time and withdraws a key from a pocket somewhere in her dress. She slowly turns the lock, staring at Tyrion all the while. No words pass between them but she feels as if she is watching something intimate. Regardless, she can tell that neither fully trusts the other, not yet. 

Sansa takes the moment to look around. Missandei has not taken a seat, she stands off to the right of Daenerys’ makeshift throne, looking more servant than advisor, it is unfortunate she thinks, to have your dearest friend relegate you as such. 

And then her eyes find Varys’ he has gone to a chair at the table. He looks relaxed but somehow hyper aware of his surroundings. For a few seconds they stare at each other but he makes no motion to her, no slight nod or wink. Nothing to give his shifting allegiances away. It reassures her, Varys still has his cleverness after all these years.

“It appears,” Daenerys drawls, snapping Sansa’s head back to the throne, “That the Red Wolf is not as mighty as they all claim. A Queen less than a week and she is captive.”

Daenerys stares her down. Tyrion has moved to Daenerys’ left but stands in front of the throne, not hiding in the shadows as Missandei has. 

Sansa is silent. 

“No defense Sansa? After all the dramatics that have brought you here, you have nothing to say for yourself?” Daenerys is trying to provoke her. 

And then a thought strikes Sansa. She won’t let the Dragon Queen’s words get to her but perhaps she can rile her instead, sew a few seeds of doubt.

“It won’t work,” Sansa says meekly then, reminding herself of how she would tremble in King’s Landing as a girl, always appear timid and they will forget the teeth you hide.

Daenerys quirks an eyebrow, “What won’t work darling Sansa?”

“Your plan to stop the war. It won’t stop for me,” Sansa looks at her feet as she says this, slipping back into her girlhood innocence oh so easily. 

She spares a glance at Tyrion and she knows that he, knowing her best of those here is the only one seemingly surprised by this display. 

Daenerys just scoffs, “You are their Queen. They have gone to war for you, they will do what they must to spare your life. Even give up your Queendom.”

“But they have Jon,” Sansa says, finding her stride.

Daenerys tilts her head, pauses.

“What am I? In truth? But a woman to stand by his side. I have fulfilled my duty to Jon and to the North. I have an heir in Catelyn. A Queen can always be replaced,” Sansa lets her eyes fill with tears then, a show for Daenerys, to hopefully convince the woman that she believes what she is saying. 

The words she has said sting her own sense of pride. It is an idea she has worked hard to rip out, root and stem, that she is only but a claim, only useful for the heirs she could produce. Jon sees more than that in her. The North does. And while he doesn’t think anything she has said is true, it is what she needs Daenerys to think. 

Daenerys looks angry now, “Jon will come for you. Jon has done much worse to protect you in the past.”

The words are nearly spat at Sansa’s feet. 

“Jon will want to, yes. But he has a duty to think of his people, our daughter. The other Kingdoms, his advisors will lead him to do what is right, to fight,” Sansa lets her voice break on the last word. 

Daenerys raises then, approaches Sansa until they are almost nose to nose. 

“Whatever game you think you are playing Sansa Stark, it ends now,” And Daenerys is tearing towards the tent doors. 

“If it is my fate to burn Daenerys. Let me burn now, I will not delay the inevitable, wasting away in your dungeons,” Sansa speaks clearly and confidently now, knowing Daenerys will do no such thing yet, won’t give up her only leverage. Even if she thinks that leverage is useless. Daenerys doesn’t turn back, she stops and then pushes out the tent flaps.

She calls over her shoulder, anger dripping, “I will take Drogon back to King’s Landing. Meet me there.”

Sansa looks at the others. They all have varying degrees of shame in regards to their Queen’s outburst. 

Tyrion appeals to Sansa, “Sansa, I must apologize—”

And then, to Sansa’s relief, she has grown weary of Tyrion’s games, Jorah and Grey Worm are sprinting back in, both panting.

“They’re already retreating, we think they already know that Sansa has been taken. We should retreat now, lest they try and take her back,” Jorah gets out.

Arianne. Arianne has succeeded. But who called off the troops? Is Jon back? Did Bran and Cersei decide it was best? What about Arya, if they don’t have her on hand she might do something, might strike out on her own and try to come for Sansa. They need to move now, but Sansa keeps her lips sealed. 

Everyone around the room is packing up in a hurry and Sansa is jostled a few times. It’s only after the second time she feels something slip into her hand, and notices Varys suddenly moving quickly to the other side of the tent. She pushes the slip of paper deep into the folds of her dress and then allows Jorah to move her back to be tied to a horse and carted off to King’s Landing.

She imagines that this already long day is far from over.

~~~

Sansa wakes up disoriented. She hadn’t known that she had been asleep and that was the first worry that she had. And she was surprised that she was on a bed, a comfortable bed at that. 

Her memories start filling in from the fog. They had arrived at King’s Landing and Jorah had insisted that they take her to the castle unconscious. It had been a point that Tyrion had fought against, and Sansa appreciated him for that much. But she mostly thought Jorah incredibly dense. She had spent years in King’s Landing and in the Red Keep. She knew enough about the area that blinding her now wouldn’t do much. But he had won the argument and pulled out a cloth with something that came around her mouth, knocking her into a dreamless sleep, and then she was here.

Sansa sits up in bed and assesses her situation. The room is dark but there is a fire burning low across the room. The room is rich in colours and textures. Simple but elegant. And then her breath catches. She needs more light to be sure. 

She sweeps her legs off the bed and belatedly realizes that she is no longer chained. She doesn’t pause though. She grabs a candle off the nearby table and bends down to the fire, transferring the flame quickly to the wick and then turning the candle around the room, throwing light as far as she can. 

Her heart beat speeds up. Her hands start to get clammy and her throat constricts. She cannot panic. She cannot go to pieces here in the dragon’s den. But it is her room. It is the room she kept for the years she was in King’s Landing, not the one she shared for a short time with Tyrion but her own chambers, the ones where Shae had tended to her and where she had first got her moonblood. It was a haunted room. Sansa thought it must have been disused for a while, it seemed freshly cleaned, as if the Dragon Queen had had it prepared especially for her arrival. The thought makes her stomach lurch but luckily it’s been hours since she last ate and she only manages a dry heave.

Sansa makes her way back to the bed. Sits down and takes several deep breaths. It all comes crashing down on her. Her situation. She had been so strong in the tent and in the face of her captors, but here, alone, she allows herself a brief reprieve. She doesn’t cry but she hugs her knees to her chest and curls up on the bed, rocking herself and trying to soothe the ever mounting sense of foreboding.

She goes over everything she knows. Jon lives. She has to believe that, she knows he had Rhaegal and that Daenerys retreated. But she cannot depend on Jon to rescue her here, she knows he will want to on instinct but she must plan for the eventuality that it won’t happen. She should hope that it won’t, knowing that it will put him into unnecessary harm, but a selfish part of her wishes to be the girl who naively hoped Robb would save her and that maybe Jon will succeed where he failed. She’ll allow that small flame but she will focus her efforts on surviving and escaping in the meantime. 

Bran lives. This she knows for certain. She lets out a sigh of relief at this fact. Arianne and Cersei will have ensured he made it back safely. Bran will be there to temper Jon’s impulses and to keep an eye on Arya.

Arya. She had no word on her sister. But this is okay. Arya is strong, she is smart, she won’t have fallen in battle. (And if she has there is nothing Sansa can do about it from here, so she shouldn’t dwell on this unknown anyways, at least that is what she tells herself). 

Jon has Rhaegal and Daenerys has Drogon. They have more forces but will they deploy them with Sansa at risk? Sansa would tell them to, to decimate Daenerys without mercy. That Sansa’s life should be forfeit in this bargain, they could win the war tomorrow if they let their Queen die.

But that was the crux. Sansa was not naive. She had seen her and Jon’s people the night of their coronation. They believe in Sansa, they are loyal to their Queen in a way that Daenerys and Cersei never achieved. It will be a hindrance here, they will draw this out, attempting to negotiate and risking everyone in the process.

Which brings her back to saving herself. She has no choice, the less time she spends in King’s Landing the quicker the war is over. She will leave here, dead or alive but she cannot extend her stay. Death is not the option she wants, not when Jon and Cat are depending on her. 

With that thought Sansa bolts up into a seated position. Cat. Her child. Her children. She is pregnant. It seems foolish but the fact has slipped her mind completely. Daenerys doesn’t know this, Daenerys cannot know this fact. She cannot pinpoint why but she knows the fact will incense Daenerys further. And suddenly time is of even more importance. Sansa is just barely starting to show, but if it is like her last pregnancy it will come fast now, she will be obviously pregnant within a few short weeks, no hiding the fact. So she resolves herself. 

She is still in the dress she wore to the battle, it was tight with the armor she wore but they had removed the bodice while she slept and it was looser, this was good for her. She doubted that Daenerys would be providing a new wardrobe for her hostage so she could remain in this dress comfortably as long as need be. 

And then she is looking at the dress and another memory shakes loose. She is rifling through her pockets in a fury then, standing up to access them better. Her hands slide over her conquest.

Varys’ note. 

It says only: tonight, hour of the bat

It is simple enough, it refers to the hour just after midnight. But what does it mean? What is tonight? And Sansa has no way of knowing how much time has passed. There is a solitary window, they haven’t barricaded it, Daenerys either thinks Sansa will not throw herself out it or simply overlooked the possibility. It is dark out but how late? Has she missed it already?

And then, as if right on cue. The floorboard in front of her fireplace is being jiggled loose. 

Sansa thinks for a moment she must be dreaming. She lived in this room for years and never knew of the existence of such a passage. And here is Varys, emerging directly into her chambers. 

“The castle has many secrets, Your Grace,” Varys stands fully and bows his head to her. 

He must have read the shocked look on her face and he responds further to her panic at the volume of his voice that seems too loud for the dead of night. But even in her panic she notices his use of her title.

“There is nobody in this part of the castle, save for the guard outside your room whose nightcap I had laced with a non-lethal sedative not an hour ago. He will sleep solidly for at least another three hours, wake in a panic and then never tell a soul about his failure. Daenerys won’t wake until long after he has woken and checked to make sure you are still here,” Varys says simply and takes a seat at the table.

Sansa pulls herself together quickly, “We received your letter at Riverrun.”

Varys puts his hands together as Sansa draws a seat across from him. She is perplexed as ever by him. They had little to do with each other when she lived in King’s Landing but now they were vitally important to one another’s survival. 

“When I heard that you had Lord Baelish executed in the Great Hall of Winterfell and let him bleed out on the stones of your ancestors, I knew I had underestimated you,” Varys’ eyes pierce her and she doesn’t know how to respond.

“I thought of you as nothing more than a pawn to be used and moved around the greater playing board of Westeros. But in the years we were not known to each other, you made it clear across the board. Becoming a Queen in your own right. When I saw you again in Winterfell, I knew even then that I had erred, that I had gone looking for a Queen a world away when there was one here, if I had only turned North. And then I saw you with Jon and it was as if all my questions over the years were answered. A King, Targaryen in truth but with the wolf blood, and a Queen, heir to Winterfell with Tully fish swimming in her veins. I couldn’t have invented a better match,” Varys withdraws his clasped hands and looks at her again.

“You knew,” Sansa is unsure, “You knew always of Jon’s parents? Yet you did nothing for years? You say you saw this potential in us at Winterfell but you made no move to change the direction things were going?”

Sansa is sure her voice comes out more accusing than she intends but she is annoyed with Varys’ hollow words. 

“As I said, I have erred. I believed that Daenerys could still be worked into becoming the Queen that Westeros needed and that events were already far too set to be reversed. In truth, I was tired of trying to shift a continent that didn’t want to be moved. The thought of switching allegiance was frightening not to mention exhausting. And there were the dragons…” Varys trails off.

They sit in silence for a moment. Sansa considering her position carefully.

“How am I to trust you?”

Varys sighs, “I am here am I not? I have written you the letter before this.”

Sansa just stares at him.

“I do not expect to survive this war Sansa,” Varys drops the title now, appealing to Sansa’s personal nature, “But I wish to aid in bringing down Daenerys in the only way I know how. Through my intellect. I would work with you to do this. Littlefinger saw himself as someone to control you and ended up dead for it. I wish to work with you, an intellectual equal and hopefully we may defeat the evil that I have brought down on Westeros.”

Sansa realizes then that Varys is a humble man. A man who appears self assured and mysterious but one who recognizes the fleeting fragility of life, the way a continent can shift overnight, and how insignificant one person can be to all of this or inversely how individuals have the power to change the course of history.

And so Sansa grits her teeth, leans in and pierces Varys with her own stare. 

“Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you don't hate me! I know so many people are divided about kidnapped Sansa and the idea of it in S8, even when it didn't happen. But I have planned this from the beginning (when this fic was but a kernel last June, months before I posted chapter 1) and the actual first scene I wrote is the scene between Dany and Sansa which will be coming next chapter. So please don't hate me hahaha. I know there's a lot to be said for putting Sansa in a "helpless" position, I won't say much to that other than I don't think it will be what I do here and that also Sansa is even stronger than she was at the end of s8 here in my fic so I think there is some difference in the situations :)
> 
> Couple little things now, the "hour of the bat" I looked up the asoiaf wiki page and this is a real time they say so I used it lol. 
> 
> And yes, the "shall we begin" is an ode to Daenerys' infamous shall we begin when they arrive at Dragonstone. I've always liked that quote, it was so powerful the first time I watched it and I loved it here, as a preface for Daenerys' downfall being planned...poetic justice haha.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, as always drop a comment you are all so lovely and I love to hear from you :)


	15. a declaration of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a MONSTER. You have been warned. (Also we broke 100k words holy shit!)

Arya sits by Gendry’s unmoving body for what feels like hours. Her head is empty and her whole world narrows to the scope of his face. She doesn’t think about the battle raging in the distance, she can hardly hear anything, her ears ring in the quiet of the tent. A Maester had come once to check on him, declared him stable and left again. 

But how was Arya supposed to understand stability? They didn’t know if he would wake up, his injury had been bad, she knew that much, and the Maesters said she would have to be patient. If there was one thing Arya was not, it was patient. She was brought back to the days she spent training as a faceless man, how that had tested her patience to its very end, and she supposed she would have to adopt the same principle here. But oh she just wanted him to wake up.

In the other corner of the tent her Uncle Edmure had dozed off. His injury hadn’t been serious but they said with the hit he took to the head he couldn’t return to the battlefield. He had tried to sustain conversation but when he realized his niece was intent on remaining still and stoically silent he had succumbed to his exhaustion. 

Arya thought of him now, a brief reprieve from Gendry, and thought about this man she knew, not well, but well enough, and how he had been her mother’s brother. It was odd, that he had known her for so much longer than any of her children ever had. He was her last connection to her mother. Arya admitted, when she thought of those she had lost she often thought of her father first, his soft spot for her and how in their final days together he had encouraged her swordplay, had supported her. But now, here, at the bedside of the man she loved, she couldn’t help but wish dearly for Catelyn Stark, for her mother’s guidance. 

Her mother had known this sort of pain, losing Brandon, her once betrothed. And she would’ve waited in the North while the rest of the people she loved fought in Robert’s war. Arya had spent so long thinking this a weakness in women like her mother, in women like Sansa, their inability to come to a battlefield, and while she had long since outgrown that particular petty belief, she now knew that what they endured in the wake of a battle was far worse, the feeling of hopelessness. At least on the field her life was in her hands. And Arya wished her mother here with her now, to console her and tell her that Gendry would pull through. At least she would have Sansa for that when all this was done. 

Just then there was a disturbance outside the tent. Arya heard yelling and quite a bit of noise. It seemed as if several people were right outside. Edmure was jolted out of his sleep and made some sort of noise of confusion that Arya barely registered. Because she was suddenly on her feet, all thoughts of Gendry momentarily out of her mind. Was the battle here? Had forces made it out of the fray to infiltrate their encampment? Her hand was withdrawing her Needle when Arianne Martell burst through the tent flaps. 

She was gasping, out of breath, and sweat slicked her body, pasting her hair to her forehead and neck. 

“Lord Tully, Lady Stark, thank the gods,” Arianne is panting, “Your sister, Queen Sansa, she is in grave danger! Daenerys’ men are coming for her. She sent me to get aid, we have no time!”

A beat. She doesn’t ask questions, sees the truth in Arianne and doesn’t hesitate. Arya is moving, Edmure following behind her, all three of them out of the tent and charging forth. 

“How do you know they are coming?” Arya asks, already planning how to best rescue her sister.

Dammit Sansa. How had they been so naive as to let her and the others go off to that tent all alone. Sure they had had Brienne, but it was too far from the rest of them. They had thought it safer that way, but it left her exposed. Dammit.

All of them are moving quickly through the crowd, the yelling had apparently been Arianne inquiring to anyone who moved if they had seen Arya or Jon. Everyone in the crowd parts as they realize who is there.

“Brienne was felled with a poison dart, I think she will be alright. Sansa insisted I leave before they arrived to secure help. She remained with Cersei and Bran but Sansa and Bran both seemed sure that the men were coming for Sansa alone,” Arianne gets out just as they arrive at the horses.

Brienne had fallen? And what was this about Bran and Sansa, what did they know that Arya didn’t/?She felt herself start to sweat, something wasn’t right about this. 

“I don’t know about Bran but Daenerys’ men won’t give up a chance to take Cersei. I have no love for the woman but she secures the Lannister forces, we need to go now,” Edmure says as he swings his leg onto his horse. 

Arya is jumping up into her saddle when she hears someone call her name, there is so much commotion that she doesn’t register it until the second time. 

“Arya!”

She turns her head. And there, not twenty feet behind her is Bran on his specially made horse saddle and at his side Cersei Lannister, they share matching grim expressions. 

And Arya slips right back off the saddle, her feet carrying her the short distance to Bran. But she can’t speak suddenly, just stands there looking up at her brother, not even sparing Cersei a glance. They look at each other for only a few seconds, Bran and Arya, the two youngest Starks left and she sees it in his eyes.

“She’s gone,” Arya’s voice is hoarse but she needs to say the words. 

“I’m sorry Arya,” the emotion in Bran’s voice catches her off guard, she hasn’t seen this level of humanity in Bran for some time, “It’s my fault, I could’ve stopped it.”

“Oh come now boy, don’t blame yourself,” Edmure’s voice comes from behind Arya and she realizes him and Arianne have joined them.

And then Bran’s eyes harden, his voice coming out like a whip, “Do not presume to understand these things Uncle. You mean no harm, but it is indeed my fault.”

Bran turns back to Arya now, “The visions have been returning, I’ve dreamt of Sansa for weeks, I see her and then the dreams end in fire. I didn’t see anymore until today in the tent and it was too late. I told Sansa back at Riverrun but she had me swear to keep it from you. From you and Jon.”

Bran hangs his head in shame, and Arya feels as if someone has doused her in ice water. She isn’t angry, she is grieving. As soon as her brother said fire…fire and Sansa. So much had made sense. Daenerys has their sister and in that she holds the power, if they move against her now… Sansa’s life will be forfeit. She will burn. 

“We need to call off the forces. Immediately, tell them their Queen has been captured. It is a matter of urgency. Call for a ceasefire,” Arya’s voice comes out with authority, stepping into the role of Lady of Winterfell as easily as she had the faces of those she has killed. 

Edmure and Arianne are shocked for a moment, stunned by Arya’s commanding presence and the way she has left no room for question in it but they both nod, saddle up their horses and ride off towards the battlefield quickly. 

Arya then feels a presence behind her. She turns. Cersei Lannister. 

“Do not scold me Cersei, I’m saving Sansa’s life. How am I to assume you made it out of that tent alive, Daenerys has suddenly foregone her vendetta against you? Or did you make this deal behind our backs?” Arya’s voice is scathing and she is stepping towards the Lannister woman, itching to take out her anger on someone, to cut someone, for taking her sister, her only sister. 

Cersei’s eyes round and then turn appraising but it is Bran who speaks first from behind her, still atop his horse. 

“Arya!” His voice is scolding, “Sansa made sure Cersei hid herself, for fear they would take her as well. She had nothing to do with this, she couldn’t have.”

Arya’s head whips back to Cersei and she narrows her eyes at the woman. 

“We will get your sister back Arya. I promise you this, you forget what it means to have a Lannister on your side. We pay our debts and we have many owed to Daenerys Targaryen,” Cersei says this with no hesitation, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. 

Arya doesn’t respond. She considers her. She sees suddenly that Cersei is on their side, for better or for worse, and that the Lannisters are devilishly good at schemes and taking one by surprise. She may be of use, and Arya tries to forget that Daenerys also has a Lannister among her ranks. But she can’t help but wonder, which lion will out?

~~~

A short time later they are convening in the largest of the tents. Arya had a guard sent to watch over Gendry as he slept, she was quite ashamed when she realized she had left him but she considered it fair under the circumstances, nobody came before her family. Although, maybe Gendry was her family now too. Could she afford to admit that while her world crumbled around her?

Her and Bran sat at the head table in the absence of Jon and Sansa. Many lords had made their way there as the battle had ceased. There had been no formal ceasefire but it was said the other side was stopping as well, that did not bode well though Arya thought. It meant that this was what Daenerys had wanted, leverage, and she had got it. Arianne and Edmure had both returned, having brought word and allowing for it to continue to spread through the battlefield itself. Arianne was talking with several Dornish lords and Edmure had come over to his niece and nephew. Bran was telling them in detail what had happened at the tent and about his visions, Edmure’s grave expression deepening with each passing word. But Arya wouldn’t focus on that now, she would put all her efforts in keeping Sansa alive. 

Just then Brienne barges into the tent, distress written all over her face. Arya and Bran had sent several strong men to retrieve her and they had brought her to a Maester’s tent to sleep off the poison she had been subject to. 

“Lady Arya,” Brienne near yells and the room hushes, “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Brienne makes her way to them, all eyes on her and Arya can only give a slight nod, regret and pain written in all her features. And Brienne looks as if she would wail but instead she goes to one knee. Unhooks her sword and places it on the table in front of Arya. 

“I have failed you my Lady, you, Sansa, your whole family. Relieve me of my services,” Brienne’s voice is watery. 

Arya stares down at the kneeling woman in shock but speaks in the tone of the ruler she needs to be right now, “Rise Ser Brienne. There will be no release today. We will require your assistance the most in retrieving my sister. You have failed no one, trust me.”

Brienne’s eyes are leaking tears freely but she stands, re attaches her sword and nods, coming to sit beside Arya and listens to the conversation between Edmure and Bran. 

Across the room Arya notices Cersei talking with several Lannisters, one who she believes is her Aunt Genna. And she can’t help but notice that Cersei is distracted and keeps glancing towards the tent’s doors. Arya notices too that Ser Jaime has not yet returned. 

It is then that an unlikely trio step into the tent. 

Arya is surprised to see Meera Reed, Tormund Giantsbane, and Robin Arryn standing there, all of them disheveled and covered in blood. They all have looks of a desolate resignation. It is even more shocking when Robin Arryn steps forward, and Arya realizes he is holding a sword that is not his own. 

“Lord Yohn Royce is dead,” Robin’s voice only wavers on the last word but it reaches the whole room, “He was fell by several unsullied.”

There is silence. Yohn Royce was all but a legend. The blow is considerable, and Arya cannot help but think of how Sansa would react to the news, she had been close with the man.

And then Robin continues, gesturing to himself, Meera, and Tormund, “We ensured that they paid in turn, but it was too late for Yohn Royce. Lord Davos, Lord Edric, and Ser Podrick Payne have made sure the body was recovered so he can be returned to the Vale for a proper farewell. Is it true my cousin the Queen has been taken?”

And Arya is again startled by Robin, she realizes that with the death of Yohn Royce he has nobody to lean on. This is not a frightened boy anymore but a grown man and his voice is steely, his face hard. He is ready for war. 

“Yes,” Arya rises, “Your Queen Sansa Stark has been taken by the Dragon Queen. And we will need to plan how to get her back, once Jon arrives.” 

As Arya is speaking she sees Podrick, Davos, and Edric entering the tent as well. Davos and Podrick are visibly distressed at the words but keep their tongues. Robin grimaces but resolve settles in his eyes and he nods. 

Tormund booms, “That Dragon cunt! Jon will rescue his Wolf Queen. Not that she needs it I wager, those kissed by fire can take care of themselves.”

And Arya knows the harsh man means it as a dear compliment, that he respects her sister. And so she nods at the man and retakes her seat. 

Their new arrivals settle in around the room. Robin goes to several of his advisors from the Vale but appearing to walk with a new confidence, it suits him Arya thinks. Davos, Podrick, and Tormund find them quickly, all talking at once and asking them several questions. This persists for several minutes until Arya feels someone grip her elbow. 

She turns and is met with the face of Edric Storm.

“Gendry?” He asks with one word.

Arya stares at him, “He lives.”

She says this with no emotion and Edric just nods and turns away from her, presumably to find his lords of the Stormlands. 

When she turns back to the others she sees that Meera has found her way right to Bran’s other side and the two are engaged in an impassioned discussion, leaning right into one another, while the rest of their group remains oblivious. 

Arya overhears bits and pieces. 

“–well what does that mean?”

“How should I know, if she was going–”

“Bran you can’t keep–”

“–do what I must.”

She doesn’t need a cipher to know that they must discuss Bran’s vision. The tension is evident in both their tones and body language but she doesn’t intrude, there will be time later. 

Arya is growing anxious, why has Jon not returned? With everyone retreating from the field does he still not think it safe to return? He must be confused as to what is happening. 

The tent is interrupted yet again. 

“Is it true?” yells a familiar voice. 

There, in the entryway stand Theon and Yara Greyjoy, with Jaime Lannister propped up between the two of them. It is clearly Theon who spoke, concern tracing all the lines in his face. 

Arya meets his eye and just nods, she already grows weary of breaking the news over and over again, it tugs at her heart more each time. 

“Fucking hell,” mutters Yara, “That fucking bitch.”

And then there is a bit of a commotion because Jaime, who has clearly sustained some sort of injury is breaking free from the Greyjoy siblings and vaulting himself across the room. He doesn’t go far though because Cersei meets him, catching him in her arms. 

It is silent for a moment as the Lannister twins embrace each other for dear life in front of the entirety of the tent. A bit of uncomfortableness and unease but Yara Greyjoy breaks that easily enough.

“Careful with him there, we found him unconscious on the battlefield, knocked off a horse we think but he wouldn’t speak a word of it,” Yara chides as she looks to her bannermen for a cup of ale. 

There is laughter all about and Cersei turns an incredulous expression on Jaime. 

“You great idiot,” Cersei says then and everyone hears her clearly enough. 

Jaime just smirks down at his sister, “I didn’t try to take on a dragon this time, give me a break.”

And there is more laughing, everyone at ease for a moment. 

But Theon’s voice breaks through the crowd. 

“What is the plan then Arya? How will we get your sister back from Daenerys?” Theon’s eyes are set, not straying from the task at hand. 

Arya poises herself to respond but it is a different voice that beats her to it, one that rings out and silences the room.

“Where is my wife?”

~~~

Jon hardly believes Theon’s words. Sansa? Daenerys has Sansa? It cannot be true. He won’t let it be true. White hot rage pulses through his veins but when he finds his voice it is one of a broken man.

“Where is my wife?”

His voice isn’t loud but it seems to echo all around him. 

Jon looks into every person’s face. He sees the Lannisters, still in an embrace, elation turning to dread on their faces. He sees Theon and Yara, horror and shock on each of their faces respectively. Jon sees his almost cousin Robin Arryn, a harrowing look in the boy’s (no, the man’s, Jon corrects) eyes, Yohn Royce noticeably absent and Jon has no illusions about what that likely means. And then his eyes reach the far side of the room, to his people. Davos, Tormund, Brienne, and Podrick have varied expressions of grief, shame, and empathy painted across their faces and Jon knows then. But it isn’t until he gazes on his siblings, on Arya and Bran, that he accepts the truth. 

Sansa is gone, Sansa has been taken and he wasn’t here to protect her.

Bran, shockingly, has tear stains on his face. His only surviving brother is wallowing a look of deepest sorrow, of loss, and he notices that Meera Reed stands behind him, a hand placed soothingly on his shoulder. He turns his eyes from them to his sister. 

Arya has risen out of her seat and she still has an expression of shock, from Jon’s sudden appearance, on her face. Her mouth is open in an ‘O’ and there’s a crease in between her eyebrows, he knows suddenly that this, all of this, has fallen on her shoulders. With Sansa captured and Jon on a dragon (what a stupid waste of time he thinks), it had been down to Arya. Arya who would’ve called off the forces, knowing that persisting could cost them Sansa’s life. 

“Jon, I—” Arya’s voice is breaking, her youth is bubbling to the surface all at once as she tries to keep the tears in. (The tears he suspects she hasn’t been able to shed since she found out Sansa was gone).

But Bran cuts across her, no sign of the tears Jon saw moments ago, “It was my fault.”

Arya shoots Bran a dark look, one that Jon doesn’t understand. There is annoyance there but also understanding, acceptance, and worry. Worry for Bran?

Jon walks towards them, hardly knowing how he musters the strength to move when Sansa is in mortal peril. How he doesn’t crumple to the floor is beyond him. 

“Explain,” Jon says, his voice gruffer than he intended. 

And Bran explains. The room is quiet as he explains about his returning visions, about how Sansa featured heavily in them, along with flames, always the flames. Bran explains how Sansa swore him to silence, (and Jon notices at this that Meera’s eyes widen, but the woman remains quiet too), Bran explains how he couldn’t make sense of any of it but today, just before it happened he saw Sansa being taken, saw her in the room he now identified as the one she had in King’s Landing. And then he pauses. Looks at Jon with a mix of pity and fear. 

“What else Bran?” Jon nearly growls, and he knows he must look something fearsome, must seem a man half deranged (and maybe the songs they’ve begun to sing are true, maybe he is more wolf than man).

“She burns,” Bran’s voice is quiet, he doesn’t look Jon in the eye. Can’t bear that shame.

Murmurs break out that quickly turn to talk, shouts and a mounting sense of fear in all those present. He imagines that this is the first time any of them have heard about Bran’s visions in all their truth, though rumours had spiralled in the lead up and aftermath of the Long Night. And now to hear it with such definiteness, confirmation of this oldest magic. 

Jon closes his eyes. 

He knows there is chaos around him. Vaguely he hears Arya yelling at someone. He knows that all around him people hurl questions, fears, and concerns. As is their right. He knows that some push for them to continue to war, he knows that other counsel caution, that Sansa’s life should not be taken lightly, that they know Daenerys will make good on what is clearly a threat. 

But Jon doesn’t care about this. The only thought pulsing through his brain is Sansa. Just her name over and over again. He thinks about knocking Ramsay Bolton’s head into the ground, the man who violated her so thoroughly that he could die a thousand times and deserve more. He thinks of choking Littlefinger against the wall, threatening him with a fire burning within that he wasn’t even able to name at the time. He recalls Tyrion’s comments about his marriage to Sansa, the restraint Jon had shown. And he remembers first reuniting with Theon Greyjoy. How he had shown mercy to the man who had saved her, who had ensured she was able to return to him.

Without Sansa. Without Sansa he no longer knew who he was. She had become his salvation in a world that was cruller than it was kind. They had bared their teeth at the winds of Winter, in the faces of their enemies, and came out on the other side. Ready for a Spring. Ready to dream of a new life, a life for their daughter, for their children yet to come. And she was being ripped from him. Jon was in agony.

When he had seen the armies retreating he thought that the Targaryen forces had surrendered, nothing else made sense. But he had stayed on Rhaegal for as long as possible, just in case. It seemed like such a waste of time now, that he could’ve been here sooner. But when the battlefields had cleared he had landed him. Made sure that Rhaegal would stay with him and he had moved his way to the tent where he expected them all to be. Those not at the meeting had grown silent as Jon made his way through the camp but he had chalked it up to fear of seeing their King ride a great bloody dragon. But he had heard no whispers of what happened to their Queen, so it had been fear but fear for their King’s vengeance. 

And Jon would have vengeance. Oh, he would have it. Daenerys Targaryen would regret the day she came to Westeros, and would regret the day she dared to come for Sansa, for Jon’s heart.

Jon opens his eyes. 

“Silence!” Jon bellows. 

Jon’s thunderous voice doesn’t echo this time, it seems to snuff out all the sound instead. And in it he commands all the attention in the room at once. 

“Lord Davos,” Jon picks the man he trusts most for the task, “Ride out under a white banner. Set up a meeting between Daenerys Targaryen and myself. The two of us. Alone. As soon as possible.”

Nobody dares to speak, but he sees alarms in Arya and Bran’s eyes. Davos holds a long eye contact with his King and then makes to move. But then someone does dare. 

“Daenerys would have to be quite the fool to agree to a meeting with a man who would like nothing more than to choke the life out of her the second he gets her alone,” Cersei Lannister’s snappish voice comes out, no fear in it.

Jon turns to her. 

“And what, pray tell, would you propose instead?” Jon has no time for the woman, not now. 

Cersei’s eyes scan over the few dozen people in the room. 

“She may agree, if you allow for a guard. Go through with it,” Cersei concedes and continues, “But give us the room and we can talk about alternate options.”

Cersei’s eyes lock with Jon’s and somehow she communicates effortlessly that they cannot risk whatever it is Cersei has up her sleeve to all these ears. 

“Everyone out,” Jon commands, deciding instantly, “Lady Lannister, Ser Jaime, remain. Arya and Bran as well. The rest of you, leave us.”

There are some shocked expressions, Jon sees Edmure specifically trying to catch his eye but Jon shakes his head. Edmure is a good man and he trusts him but Jon needs to hear this privately first. 

Everyone begins to clear out. Everyone save the Lannister twins and his siblings. But then Jon realizes that two others remain. Somehow, as if it was preplanned Jon is face to face with Theon and Brienne. 

Jon sighs, allowing a slight amount of tension to leave his body for the first time since entering the tent. 

“Your Grace, forgive me. But I feel a substantial amount of blame in Sansa’s kidnapping. I implore you to allow me to remain. Whatever Lady Lannister proposes, I wish to be a part of this. Please, Your Grace,” Brienne speaks reverently. 

Jon looks at her a moment, he knows instantly what Sansa would say. She trusts this woman with her life. Jon gives her a curt nod and Brienne resumes her seat next to Arya. 

He turns his gaze to Theon. 

Theon looks almost abashed but he seems to steady himself, speaks with confidence, “Brother.”

He lets that land and Jon realizes that yes, Theon Greyjoy is still is a brother to him. After all that has been said and done, they are here, as Theon likely once was with Robb, in the middle of a war, Sansa a hostage in King’s Landing. This time they will do her a better service. 

“I have aided Sansa before. Allow me to do it once again,” Theon says and to Jon’s surprise he takes a knee in front of Jon. He has not called him Your Grace but this gesture impresses Jon. 

Jon himself gestures for Theon to stand and then he embraces the man, hugs him tight and whispers in his ear, “For Sansa.”

And with all that decided their small group of seven sits in a circle. All remaining eyes land on Cersei. Jon inclines his head, gives her the floor. 

“Daenerys will demand that we bend the knee in exchange for Sansa’s life. And if we bend the knee she may simply kill Sansa out of spite, and once she learns of the pregnancy…” Cersei trails off seeming to realize what she has just said. 

Only Theon and Jaime are surprised by this revelation of course. Jon sees Theon’s eyebrows raise in concern. But Jaime looks gobsmacked.

“She’s pregnant?” Jaime is somewhere between outrage and breaking out in a laugh, “You never told me that!”

Cersei just stares at her brother then, “I promised Sansa I would not. I did not mean to now. Though I suppose that it is relevant, time is of the essence.”

Jon is taken aback by this admission. That Cersei knew of the pregnancy, promised to keep it a secret and did so, even concealing it from Jaime. It is not something he would have even asked of her. 

“Anyways,” Arya speaks now, agitated, “What you say is true but how does it help us? We cannot fight Daenerys, she will bring Sansa out and burn her I have no doubt, and if we meet her demands then we lose the war and still might lose Sansa.”

“Fighting may work…” Theon says but he doesn’t get to finish his thought. Jon tucks the comment away for later though, there is something there, he needs more time to think on it.

“We don’t know what her demands are yet,” Bran interrupts then. 

Cersei is obviously losing in an attempt to not roll her eyes, “I don’t need visions to know how the woman thinks. She will use Sansa to barter but once she gets what she wants I doubt she will care much for her promises. Especially if, as I think she is like to do, she also uses this time to work up a scheme to get Rhaegal back.”

“The bond of rider and dragon though…” Brienne speaks then but trails off, unsure on the actual specifics of the dragon lore. 

Jon sighs, “I hold Rhaegal at the moment, I can feel him even now. But I know much less than Daenerys does when it comes to the dragons. She was infuriated when she realized I had him.”

Everyone looks worried at that and then Cersei continues, “That is what I am saying. We cannot allow her to make use of her bartering chip. As long as Sansa remains in King’s Landing we remain in the losing position. It worked in the case of Robb Stark, albeit to a lesser extent since they had Jaime at the time, but it worked. Hostages are a powerful thing. And with Sansa, the Queen. A true Queen of the people. She has the most powerful hostage situation she could dream of and I wouldn’t be surprised if Tyrion had his hands all over this as well.”

Everyone considers Cersei’s words and then Theon pipes up, “Are you proposing that we smuggle Sansa out of the capital?”

Cersei just nods, “What else is there to do?”

Everyone looks to Jon then. 

“How?” Jon breathes out, a small kindling of hope forming in his heart. 

Cersei folds her hands, “There are many ways in and out of the city if you know where to look. Being discrete is key. We will need to draw Daenerys’ attention elsewhere and hopefully have a lesser guarded castle for the attempt but I think it could be done.”

“There will need to be a small task force,” Jaime adds. 

“Which I will lead,” Jon says instantly. 

Cersei hesitates then. 

“What?” Jon asks, sure the woman is about to tell him that he cannot go after his own wife.

“Perhaps, but we will have to see how things go after your meeting with Daenerys. We may need you on dragonback as a distraction. We will have to adjust as we go,” Cersei’s words make sense but they make Jon mad. 

Arya speaks then and Jon turns to her, “We will protect her Jon. If you can’t be there, we will bring her back. I promise.”

Jon sees a glint that he thought had long faded from his sister’s eyes. One that speaks to her time spent in Essos and he knows. Knows that if he has to trust this task to anyone it will be to her. To her, and his eyes rest on Brienne and Theon, to Arya and those who love her best.

“Let us begin then,” Jon says, ready to plan, “What is the easiest way to get to the castle undetected?”

~~~

Later, weary from all the talk, Jon, Arya and Bran will make their way to their sleeping tent. None of them wishing to be parted for the night. In different ways they all feel responsible. Jon for being in the air, miles away. Bran, for the visions he hid and not being able to see more when it mattered. Arya, for her lack of foresight, not having Sansa’s tent better guarded. But between them there is no blame laid. No, if one were to look at them, cloaked in moonlight they would see only three wolves, ready for the oncoming fight. 

And when they lay down to sleep and Arya whispers into the night air, “The pack will survive this,” both her brothers nod their heads. An unspoken promise to bring Sansa, their red wolf, back into the safety of the wolve’s den. 

~~~

The next day, or the same day, Sansa supposes as her meeting with Varys was late into the night, Daenerys invites Sansa to dine with her. It does not come as a surprise but Sansa feels herself bristling all the same. Though she is good at playing the game, there is a part of her that despises it, that absolutely abhors the deceptions. Despite this feeling of oncoming dread the wolf queen is ready to meet with the dragon queen.

It is a nameless and seemingly faceless attendant who comes to Sansa and starts to get her ready for the meal. She does not speak, even when spoken too. It does not surprise Sansa, Daenerys has always ruled through fear and those so low in the castle’s household would fear the most for their lives. So she sent a mere girl who would be terrified to even give Sansa one word, lest it reach Daenerys. But she will try anyways.

“Why does the Queen have any desire for me to be dressed up at all, am I not merely a prisoner here?” Sansa questions as the girl plaits her hair. 

The question goes unanswered, in fact, she does not make any signal that she heard Sansa speak at all. 

Sansa sighs and allows the girl to continue readying her for the farce that will be the meeting. She allows her mind to wander to her family. She has tried her best to keep them out of her thoughts since her small breakdown last night, the better for her to focus on getting out of the situation, if she does not dwell on what she is missing. She thinks of Jon and how he must have raged upon realizing she was gone. His years of protecting her, of promising to keep her safe, will seem for nought in his mind after their biggest enemy was able to take her right out of Jon’s very arms. She only hopes he will not do anything reckless, perhaps it is too much to hope though. She wouldn’t love him so if he was not himself, overprotectiveness and all.

She thinks of Arya, hoping that she is okay and healthy. That she has been reunited with Gendry, maybe finding some solace in this tragedy. She tries not to think of Arya discovering that the family she fought so hard to return to has been taken from her once again, hopes that Arya won’t once again witness a family member killed as she did with father, with mother and Robb. (She knows that Arya didn’t see those last two in truth, but being there, on the night. It must have been unbearable.)

She thinks too of Bran, her brother who has gone places she will never know but who always will be her brother first. He has been so changed. These years since the defeat of the Night King have brought him back in pieces but he will never be that innocent boy of Winterfell that she remembers so fondly. Surely he will blame himself, blame his visions for this. She prays that Bran is able to temper Jon’s most rash ideas and that any plans that are made are well thought out and not born out of Jon’s fear and love for her. 

She thinks of Davos and Brienne, her family’s most trusted advisors and protectors and how they must fear for her now, in the Dragon Queen’s clutches, once more a prisoner as she was in her youth. She wonders if word got back to Sam and Gill at Winterfell and how the news might find them, a part of her wishes that a raven never reaches them, they shouldn’t be worried about her when they have other responsibilities to focus on, when they have their children as well as her own to think about. Her thoughts stray for a moment to Theon, and she can only hope he and Jon don’t team up, the combined recklessness would get them both killed. 

She thinks too of Cersei and Jaime and what they may feel about the situation. This tenuous alliance has changed things once again between the Starks and the Lannisters and it has seen the start of something, maybe not friendship, but a formation of respect between Cersei and herself. Daenerys has brought her together with the woman she most despised at one point in her life. She has had several conversations about the future with Cersei about the way they think Westeros will look. Sansa cannot help but think that if she dies here, in King’s Landing, all this will be for nothing. She has come to trust Cersei as much as she can, and maybe it is naive but she feels that if she herself were to die, the alliance of the Starks and Lannisters would die with her, as if she is the single thread that unites their families, her common cause with Cersei and their mutual understanding of one another. 

The servant girl starts to tie Sansa into her corset and she catches herself in the mirror. She is thankfully showing only slightly but she cannot either ask the servant girl to loosen the corset, for the sake of the babe, without raising suspicion. Surely the knowledge of Sansa’s pregnancy would further infuriate Daenerys and the wound that has never quite healed when it came to Jon. 

This thought makes her think of Cat. Of her most beloved daughter. She is still so young, so little and her heart hurts for her more than for even Jon. She keeps her mind closed at all times to her daughter, lest she drown in her own sorrows of how helpless she is in protecting her at the present. She knows her daughter to be safe: Jon, Arya, Bran, Brienne, and Davos, not to mention the rest of their northern allies will never let any harm come to her heir, especially now with their Queen in so much danger. But when she thinks of her daughter she cannot help but think of her own mother. Is it better to have a mother for a short time and then lose her, or to never have a mother you can remember at all and be half an orphan for your whole life? It is a thought that sends her to the verge of tears but she controls her emotions under the watchful servant’s eyes. She must stay strong, for her daughter, for her child yet to come, and for Jon. For all of them and for Westeros, to rid her country of the woman who seeks to destroy all she touches.

Suddenly Sansa hears the door open and she turns her head to hear, “Is she ready?”

Missandei stands in the entrance. 

Sansa looks at her and thinks she is a truly beautiful woman. Before first meeting Daenerys many talked of her stunning Targaryen features and the way she entranced every man she met. Sansa can recall her own jealousy when she thought it was Daenerys who held Jon’s heart. But seeing Missandei in the doorway she thinks that Daenerys holds no candle when it comes to her closest confidant.

Missandei has a quiet beauty, and maybe it is her Essosi features that stand out here so far from her home but she thinks that mostly it is the kindness that she exudes. Despite her closeness to the Dragon Queen, Sansa can tell there is no cruelty in this girl, she is simply sweet and charming if not a bit haunted.

“Yes My Lady,” The servant finally speaks, nodding and stepping away from Sansa, deeming her finally acceptable for the dinner with Daenerys.

“Follow me then Sansa,” Missandei says and then turns out of the room. 

Sansa follows Missandei out of the room and she is momentarily surprised that Daenerys has allowed her this alone time with Missandei. They leave the guard at Sansa’s door and they are alone. She is unrestrained and there are no other guards about. She is taller than Missandei and could likely take her down if need be, however neither of them have any combat training as far as Sansa knows. Does Daenerys trust Missandei so implicitly that she believes her to tell her what Sansa says verbatim and to never be swayed from her side? 

From what she knows Daenerys “freed” Missandei from her previous slave master and then took the girl into her own care under the guise of an advisor and translator. Sansa however privately thought this was little more than switching from one master for another. What other choice had Missandei been given in her life but to follow what Daenerys said? Surely her quality of life improved with the woman but was she truly free to do what she wanted? Why had she stayed in Westeros so long when she would presumably have a home back in Essos? Did she truly feel so indebted to the Dragon Queen as to never choose to leave her? They were all questions Sansa wished to know the answers to but that she thought unlikely she would ever receive. 

As Sansa ponders this they walk in silence and Sansa takes in the halls of King’s Landing. The place that she had resided for years while a captive of the Lannisters. Having arrived here unconscious and waking in a room all too familiar to her, she had felt plagued by memories for the last day. As they get closer to the Queen’s chambers she recognizes more and more and she feels herself become the small and naive girl she once was. She stops herself though, she is a woman with something to fight for, she knows what must be done and she is confident in her own abilities, she will not let Daenerys whittle her down the way Cersei, Joffrey and the others once did. 

Before they reach Daenerys and the chance passes Sansa decides to seize her opportunity.

“If you don’t mind me asking Missandei, why has the Queen sent you to fetch me?” Sansa broaches the subject, she thinks successfully.

Missandei inclines her head towards Sansa but does not stop walking, “The Queen has many duties to attend to and priorities which require her attention, we are at war as you know Lady Stark.”

“You misunderstand me. I mean does she not fear that I could turn your allegiance?” Sansa thinks there is no point in hiding her angle, at worst Missandei will tell Daenerys and she will be completely unsurprised.

Missandei stops suddenly and Sansa almost walks right into her. Missandei’s mouth twitches and her eyebrows crease slightly, she is intelligent but she was not brought up in the games of the court the way Sansa was, Daenerys never understood the subtleties either. Not that Sansa is being subtle here.

“Queen Daenerys considers you a key piece in her future successes and she trusts me perhaps more than anyone besides Ser Jorah,” Missandei speaks directly but Sansa sees conflict in the woman’s eyes, and then she starts walking again, Sansa having to catch up as she stands in shock. 

It is more than Sansa thought she may get from the woman and it takes her aback, “Is her trust misplaced? Lady Missandei?”

Missandei gives Sansa the barest of glances and then speaks out the side of her mouth.

“When you finish your meal with Daenerys it will be I who retrieves you. We will have some time to speak then, the guard won’t know when exactly to expect you back.”

Sansa feels a shiver go down her spine. But Missandei just increases her pace and all too quickly they have arrived at Daenerys’ door, manned by two guards.

“The Queen will see you now Lady Stark, please go on in,” Missandei turns and looks at Sansa head on, no trace of her previous comment in her eyes.

Sansa proceeds between the two guards, she reaches for the doorknob and they make no move to stop her so she turns it and steps inside.

Daenerys’ back is to her and she sits at the dining table in the centre of her outer chambers. It is the same room, Sansa thinks, that she once dined at with Cersei and her children, before Myrcella was sent away, Joffrey had been murdered, and Tommen made King. 

“Please come have a seat, Sansa,” Daenerys says smoothly without turning in her direction, completely opposite to their conversation yesterday. 

Sansa makes her way across the room towards the other chair which has a place setting and a plate of food. She pulls out her chair and tucks into the table. Daenerys still does not look directly at her but she thinks she sees the corner of her eye slip in her direction at one point. Sansa takes this time to regard the Dragon Queen.

She looks in all parts a Queen of Ice, despite the fireyness of her dragons and house. Her hair is in elaborate braids and she wears a dress Sansa thinks is traditional in one of the Essosi cities she conquered before coming West. She appears to gaze far away and swirls her glass of wine mindlessly. Despite this picture of imposing beauty she perpetuates, she also looks rigid, tense, and not at all at ease. She seems to be waiting for something and is perched on the edge of her seat ready to jump up at a moment’s notice.

“I will not apologize for kidnapping you Sansa but I do wish it had not come to this, you all left me no choice,” Daenerys says suddenly and turns her eyes directly to Sansa for the first time. It is the second time she has referred to Sansa by her first name and not her title, a subtle slight and one Sansa follows in turn. 

“It seems that for you Daenerys, there often is no choice, you will always act out of being backed into a corner, correct?” 

“More than half my country has declared war on a throne that is mine by rights! I have no choice but to respond with acts of war, to come at my enemies where it will hurt them most, to the woman who inspires such loyalty in them,” Daenerys responds without missing a beat, she seems unphased by her own lack of accountability.

Sansa is quiet, contemplative and tries hard to decipher Daenerys’ now closed off expression.

“Has it always been jealousy then Daenerys? That my people love me and that yours fear you? I still remember your fury at seeing Theon pledge himself to me, you know he knew me for years before your existence was even known, you should not have faulted him that loyalty then or others who feel the same way now,” Sansa replies and folds her hands in front of her, wondering if she has overstepped too quickly.

Daenerys purses her lips and closes her eyes, “You have no idea what it was like for me when I came to Westeros, I was once adored in Essos, people fell at my feet. Upon landing here I was overtaken by the Lannisters at every move, Jon would not bend the knee for months after coming to Dragonstone, I lost one of my dragons to rescue him and yet he didn’t love me as I had loved him. To endure all that and then to see a Greyjoy, one of the few families who had pledged to me immediately, rescind that and come willingly to Winterfell, not to fight alongside me but to fight for you, this Northern girl who opposed me at every turn and who commanded respect but was loved for her gentleness….it was unbearable. I will always hate you for that Sansa, you had all that I wanted when I came to Westeros and you still do.”

Sansa is momentarily stunned. The honesty with which Daenerys has composed herself is absolutely staggering. She never expected such confessions. Her entire time here seems to be riddled with most unexpected happenings.

“This will break them, you know that,” Daenerys continues, “Jon will do anything to get you back, he will bend to me, his rightful Queen and your people will support him, for you. I meet with him tomorrow. You are their beacon Sansa, without you all that the North became will crumble. This alliance with Cersei and Jaime will crumble. I will command their heads be given to me in exchange for you and I will let the rest of the Lannisters off. The other treasonous Houses must foster a child each in King’s Landing to assure loyalty but they will do it quietly and without complaint. My dragons still live Sansa,” Daenerys speaks methodically.

Sansa’s pulse quickens at the mention of her meeting with Jon but Daenerys is so confident and so sure in these convictions that Sansa knows not what to say. She seems so calm and level headed.

“Jon has Rhaegal,” Sansa says simply. 

Daenerys just bores her eyes into her, rage bubbling quietly under the surface. But she doesn’t acknowledge Sansa’s words. 

“You don’t know what they will do Daenerys. These people despise you, we work together in a common goal to bring peace to Westeros, I am no more important than any one of them, I doubt they will meet your demands.”

“You are their Queen!” Daenerys breaks her composure, “If they don’t give me the Lannister heads and the children all ready to foster, if they do not do this I will kill you and then ride Drogon out to their encampments to burn the rest them alive,” Daenerys says this without emotion as if she is simply stating the weather or recalling what she had for breakfast. 

“So if they meet your demands then you will let us all go in peace and have confidence that no rebellion will start up for the rest of your reign because of a few hostaged children?” Sansa was skeptical to say the least, it was not a good plan.

“Well nearly,” Daenerys says with a hint of a smirk then.

“Ahh what other condition will you impose?”

“You’ll never leave King’s Landing alive Sansa, it doesn’t matter what they do, once I have their submission I will bring you out and burn you in front of them, in front of Jon, Arya, Bran, all those you love, your daughter too. Westeros will see what happens to traitors and I will do what I should’ve done years ago,” Daenerys’ grin is maniacal. She is lost, Sansa sees this now, the history of the Targaryen’s sins polluting her veins.

All the breath leaves Sansa but she says quietly, “So, you choose fear.”

Daenerys is quiet and turns away from her. She remains silent so long Sansa thinks the conversation is over and she will soon be asked to leave.

But Daenerys then says, “I should’ve known all those years ago it would come down to you.”  
She rises and strides across the room as she speaks, “On Dragonstone I thought Jon and I would rule together. I am under no illusions of my beauty. I know any man would desire me if he allowed himself. I figured he must have someone back in the North, a wildling or perhaps a Northern Lord’s daughter. I saw the two of you embrace in Winterfell’s courtyard and I should’ve known then. But I thought you still brother and sister and perhaps my family would’ve thought nothing of it but you Starks are so honourable I dismissed you. I should’ve known Sansa, Westeros cannot hold both of us, one of us must submit to the other and dragons do not fear wolves.”

With that Daenerys walks out of the room and leaves Sansa with the dwindling candles and a cold plate of food. 

But at Daenerys’ parting words her thoughts turn back to Jon’s arrival in Winterfell, with Daenerys at his side.

~~~

Sansa can recall the day with perfect clarity. She had been a nervous wreck the entire time but outside she had been a vision of serenity. She would not let this conqueror see her tremble. 

But for weeks on end now Sansa had thought of nothing but Jon’s return North. Littlefinger’s words had poisoned her mind, and even when they had disposed of his dead body, his implications had lingered. Had Jon been every bit the Northern fool the bannermen now thought him to be? Had he fallen in love with a woman intent on stealing from them, stealing the home of their forebearers? Sansa hoped not but she feared the worst. 

It was ironic, she thought, how much time she had spent on quelling the Northern lords’ fears about Jon when her own heart filled with doubt, despite the fact that she didn’t want to doubt, and that she wanted to trust Jon.

Sansa knew too well that any trust she had had in a man in the past had only left her aching and broken. Except perhaps Theon. Theon had come through for her, but even he had left in the end, returning to his sister. Jon though. Since she had reunited with Jon she had felt safe in a way she hadn’t in years. When she believed that her father could protect them from anything and that she would marry a handsome prince and one day be Queen. Such girlish dreams were behind her and as she stood on the ramparts awaiting Jon’s arrival, with a different Queen altogether, she couldn’t help the sense that she was going to be let down again.

She had let the cold wind whip around her, she relished these last few moments of peace and solitude before she would be forced into making nice with a woman she had no intention of kneeling for. 

Arya had refused to meet Jon at the gates. She had stormed and raged when Sansa had come to her, after Littlefinger’s execution and told her of her fears for their brother, what he may have done. Arya had not wanted to hear it, not wanted to admit that the brother she had worshipped may have failed them to this extent. She had told Sansa she would watch, but that she would take no part in welcoming Jon home, saying she would seek him out on his own later.

In part it had been a relief to her. She could study Jon unimpeded, seek out things he may be unable to say to her in front of their guest. But it also burdened her with the reality of Bran, who he had become and her inability to control or predict what he may say in the wake of this foreign Queen. It was a lot to balance and Sansa had thought she might just topple over with the weight of it all. 

But then Jon’s arrival had gone both better and worse than she expected. Worse because Daenerys had been even more wretched than Sansa had assumed she would be. She had the air of someone who thought the world owed them a great deal, a lesson that Sansa had learned in her girlhood days. Yes, she thought Daenerys was a petulant child from their first meeting and she feared handling her going forward, even as Sansa iced her out from their initial meeting. She would need to tread carefully.

The meeting had been better than she had dared to hope because of Jon. Jon had rushed to embrace her, pausing only to greet Bran. And in Jon’s arms she felt the feelings she had been trying to push down since his departure stir deep in her stomach. She didn’t have time to dwell though because Jon’s lips had met her ear, furrowed in her red hair and concealing their wicked intent. “Trust me.” Two words that had allowed Sansa to breathe, that had made her heart soar, because it was the reassurance she had sought for all their time apart. 

For the rest of their days the words had been a mantra, whenever she wavered, when she looked at Daenerys and Jon in question. She repeated the words Jon had said, a silent reassurance to herself.

And that evening, once the meetings for the day had been said and done, once all had been going off to bed, she waited. She had yet to see her sister but she suspected that Arya had seen him at some point, he had disappeared for a while. But Bran had insisted that Jon come talk with him after dinner. Sansa had only raised an eyebrow at her brother, she had left them to it but her and Jon’s eyes had locked for one moment. In that look she hoped that they had been on the same page, they had much to discuss and he must come to see her later, even if the hour was late. 

So Sansa had sent Brienne away from watching her door for the night and had settled into writing some letters. Awaiting Jon and whatever news he had to bring her from his months on Dragonstone. 

She had just been worrying that he might not come, it had been well over an hour and surely whatever Bran had to talk about hadn’t kept him this long, when she heard the knock on her door.

She was across the room in an instant, flinging open the door without hesitation, the sight she had been met with was far from what she expected. 

In less than two hours Jon seemed to have aged before her eyes. He had been tense since returning to Winterfell this morning but he had been a comfort, he had been familiar and known. The man before her seemed to have taken on the weight of the world and Sansa couldn’t imagine what had happened in such a short time to wrought such a change.

She grabbed his arm, ushered him into the room and closed the door behind him, fearful for anyone to see him in this weary state. 

“Jon—”

“Did you know?” Jon’s voice came out in a rasp, slightly accusatory but mostly full of sorrow. 

Sansa dropped her arm and they stood there, too close she thought, and still right by her door. 

“Did I know what?” Sansa asked, completely unaware of where this was going. 

Jon just stared at her with a grim deadness in his eyes, “About my father.”

Sansa felt the air go out of her lungs but she wasn’t sure why. The way Jon had emphasized the word ‘my’ not our. She hadn’t known what he spoke of but it seemed like something was wrestling loose in her mind. Littlefinger’s words an age ago, ‘half-brother’ the word left to hang and then ‘a motherless bastard born in the south’, what did it all mean?

Sansa just shook her head, stared into Jon’s face, lined with stress. 

“Rhaegar,” Jon stuttered out, “Rhaegar Targaryen was my father. Bran told me just now.”

Sansa felt the shock in her expression but she couldn’t get a coherent thought out. Bran’s secrecy, not surprising to her, it was something that Jon should have the right to know first, but she couldn’t help but marvel at what other secrets he knew, she felt herself chill at the thought.

“My mother is Lyanna Stark,” Jon’s voice sounds hollow. 

Sansa couldn’t breathe, she thought vaguely that she was trying but her lungs found no relief. Jon was not her brother. It is a stupid first thought, stupid and selfish. But suddenly the word cousin had never seemed more appealing than it did in that moment. 

Sansa found her voice, “Daenerys doesn’t know?”

Jon let out a long sigh and pinched his nose, “She can’t know Sansa, she is a weak and cruel woman and her dragons give her power. She will kill me where I stand.”

Hearing Jon say the words, confirming his distaste for her allowed Sansa to sag with relief, and she had, letting go of all the tension once and for all. 

“You bent the knee though? You bedded her?” Sansa hated the way her words came out bitter, a wound not quite healed even at Jon’s admission. 

“For you–” Jon stopped himself, “For the North, aye.”

But he can’t take back what he said, for her. He did it for her. And Sansa let a private elation roll over her, a thrill chased up her spine. She closed her eyes for just a second, when she opened them she realized suddenly that her and Jon had yet to move and that they were both leaning in towards one another, a current passed between them. 

“You’re a Stark, you’ll always be a Stark to me Jon,” Sansa breathed out the words and placed her hands back on his arms. 

Jon flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“I’m,” Jon paused, stepped minutely closer to her and placed one hand on her back, “I’m not your brother.” 

“No,” Sansa whispered, “But we are all wolves here.”

And then they had collided, Sansa reached her lips towards Jon’s and Jon pulled her close to him. Their lips closed over one another’s and it had felt like a declaration. A declaration of all that had been true between them. 

Sansa had pushed herself closer to Jon, pulled his shirt flush against her and as Jon parted her mouth with his tongue Sansa only felt sated. Sated with the knowledge that her feelings had been reciprocated for so long, that she had not been alone in her longing. That this truth of his birth had been all it took to send them falling over the edge (idly she had wondered if it would even have taken that, given much more time together). And triumphantly Sansa thought that Littlefinger had been wrong, Jon wanted nothing of the Dragon Queen. 

Before more could happen Jon had pulled away from Sansa, he kept her drawn close though. 

“Now the real fight shall begin,” Jon looked down at her and she could see his contentment but also the worry deep within him.

“Not tonight,” Sansa said and muzzled her head into his chest, “Tonight we shall not worry of Dragons, or Lions, or even those undead. Tonight is only for us.”

Jon had squeezed her tighter at that and they had stood there in each other’s embrace, both worried for the future but able to find temporary solace in each other.

~~~

Sansa was startled out of her reverie when she heard someone call her name from across the room. Suddenly she is aware that she is still in King’s Landing, still left alone in Daenerys’ dining chamber, still has an untouched plate of food in front of her and that her memories, while comforting, would bring her nothing here. 

Nothing, except perhaps hope. She had been right to depend on Jon before, much had happened since that night, Jon and Sansa had talked for hours of his time on Dragonstone, North of the wall, and the meeting in King’s Landing. They had spent weeks and months rebuilding trust and stoking a steadily growing love between the two of them. They had fought and survived together and in the intervening years they had built a life together. And all at once Sansa is unwilling to compromise on any of it, she is washed with a new sense of confidence that she will be victorious here, no matter how helpless the situation seems. 

“Lady Sansa,” the voice says again, louder this time. 

Sansa turns to see Missandei standing in the doorway, her expression one of impatience. 

“My apologies, my lady,” Sansa says and rises, making her way to the door, “Daydreaming.”

Missandei doesn’t acknowledge this and simply turns on her heel and leads them from the room. The guards make no move as they leave and they make their way down the halls, back towards Sansa’s chambers. 

Missandei said that they would talk after her meeting with Daenerys, but Sansa is suddenly fearful to broach the subject. They could be overheard by anyone. And so she just follows Missandei and hopes that the woman knows what she is doing. 

They are following the same path they took on the way there when suddenly Missandei veers off course and gestures for Sansa to follow her into a room, through a doorway that Sansa had hardly even noticed, as disused as it was. 

When they are in the room, Missandei reaches to the door and locks it. She turns back and makes her way to the one table in the room. There are a few mismatching chairs, one of which Missandei draws and the other which Sansa does, following suit. 

“This area of the castle is not frequented with regularity, we will be undetected here for a short while. Speak,” Missandei says without preamble.

A beat of silence and then Sansa speaks as Missandei just looks at her expectantly. 

“My lady, forgive me for my assumption. But I gather that you are not altogether content with how things are at present,” Sansa speaks overly formally to not risk offending the woman. 

Missandei barely reacts, keeping her face blank. But she nods slightly. 

Sansa forges on, “If you were to aid me in any way. I can guarantee safety for you and for your beloved, Grey Worm is it? Any information you could provide would be helpful, as close to Daenerys as you are. But I also understand the dangers this presents. I only ask that you don’t report my request back to your Queen.”

Missandei studies her for ages. Sansa almost speaks again when Missandei lets out a long breath and Sansa sees the woman’s shoulders sag. 

“I have thought for a long time that Daenerys has been becoming that which she sought to destroy. Grey Worm and myself have talked endlessly about what we can do from our position but no opportunity has presented itself so we have remained close and hoped that we could be of use to her downfall later on,” Missandei hesitates then, “Daenerys has been dear to me for a long time, I do not do this lightly. I owe the woman my life. But I cannot abide her actions any longer, Grey Worm was right, Mhysa has become a Master.”

The last bit remains unclear to Sansa but the rest of it makes so much sense to her. She conceals the joy that this admission has brought her. But she doesn’t know how much time she has left so she just ploughs ahead. 

“Thank you so much Lady Missandei, I cannot say how much this means to me but I will ensure you don’t regret this,” Sansa gives the woman a small smile and grips her hand, “You must talk to Varys, he will inform you of what is to be done, it will be easier for you to talk to him without risking suspicion.”

Missandei’s eyes round at this, a cloud settling in her eyes, “Lord Varys? He moves against Daenerys?”

Sansa makes to respond but Missandei seems to consider the thought further and her confusion lifts. 

“Yes I suppose that makes sense, just like him,” Missandei shakes her head at something and then rises, “We must be going but do not worry Lady Stark. We will do whatever we can to help you.”

Sansa rises and she thanks Missandei as they both head for the door, before Missandei opens it she turns to Sansa once more. 

“I will not let her kill you, you have my word,” And then Missandei is charging out into the hallway back to Sansa’s room and Sansa only has the option to follow her. 

Missandei’s words work as kindling to keep stoking the fire that has begun to rage in Sansa’s stomach though and she feels warmer than she has since she was taken hostage. 

~~~

Jon is vibrating. It had taken a day but he was going to meet with Daenerys. Davos had said that she was actually quick to agree to meet. And this only made Jon angrier. 

He had never cared for the games. But for Sansa. For Sansa he must do whatever he can, even if it involves playing petty mind games with Daenerys Targaryen. 

They had constructed an open faced tent on the field that men had died on yesterday, this cruel irony was not lost on Jon. But it had been Cersei’s idea. It would give Jon and Daenerys privacy while allowing her guards to watch her from a distance. And so Jon sits at the table and awaits the Dragon Queen. 

Cersei had also insisted that Jon wear his crown, a show of power lest Daenerys forget that she is speaking to a King. It made Jon’s stomach turn but he had to admit that Cersei had a point. Cersei had been surprising him, the way she took on more of a leadership role since Sansa’s kidnapping and how she actually seemed invested in their plans of rescue. But Jon could see now more than ever the woman that Sansa had grown up beneath. Her mind was devious, she could work her way out of any situation and she simply refused defeat. As an ally she had a value that Jon couldn’t take lightly. 

Jon looks up and he sees that Daenerys is making her way to the tent. Some fifty feet from the entrance she leaves the men who accompany her. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm from the looks of it. They remain with Jon’s own guards: Arya (she hadn’t taken no for an answer) and Tormund. The four of them make an odd group, and Jon can tell, even from afar that Jorah is resistant to staying so far away. But Jon brought no weapons, if he tried to kill Daenerys with his bare hands they’d have plenty of time to get to her. No, Jon was going to play nice. For Sansa. 

Jon does not rise from his seat, even with Daenerys’ commanding presence he doesn’t think twice on it. Though she seems to falter in her step for a moment, as if she expects it. She eyes his crown, huffs and makes her way to the seat across from him. He examines her. She does appear Queenly, he will admit that she always has. But her power is icy, it is solitary, without warmth or love. A Queen without a Kingdom one may call her. Her crown a hollow indication. It wasn’t something she oft wore but it made her look even more regal. He wondered if she gazed into a mirror and saw the Targaryens of old staring back at her. Her ancestors, their ancestors he thinks with a bitter swallow. 

“Jon,” Daenerys greets him then inclines her head towards him. And he hates how sweet her voice sounds, like honey hiding poison. It sounds light, without a care in the world. 

“Daenerys,” Jon says gruffly in turn.

Daenerys’ mouth almost quirks into a frown at the omission of her title but she continues anyways, “You’ll be happy to know your wife is quite well. I have given her her old rooms back, a familiar comfort I thought.”

Daenerys watches Jon’s reaction closely as she speaks but he keeps his features smoothed out while a fire burns inside. Jon knew intimately the trauma associated with those chambers and Daenerys was no dimwit, she could put the pieces together. She knew exactly what she was doing. 

“What do you want Daenerys?” Jon asks, already tired of this charade.

Daenerys raises her eyebrows, “You’re the one who called this meeting Jon Snow, in case you forgot.”

It is odd, he thinks, how so many still call him Jon Snow even though he has taken the Stark name for years now. But on Daenerys’ lips it rings more false, as if she is hollowing out the old scars on his chest. 

“You stole my wife Daenerys,” Jon deadpans, “I assumed you have a reason for doing this and that you would want to make demands.”

Daenerys purses her lips, clearly annoyed at Jon’s denial to entertain any of this. 

“Have you ever thought,” Daenerys’ voice is showing its strain now, “That if you had married me that none of this ever would have happened? That you had everything before you and now you have nothing?”

Jon laughs, a short quick bark, he can hardly believe it. Daenerys narrows her eyes at him. 

“Daenerys I never would have married you. We are fundamentally different people. Not to mention our shared Targaryen blood. And that doesn’t even account for…” Jon trails off then, worried to provoke her. 

Daenerys fills in the blank though, “Doesn’t account for Sansa. You’re right.”

Jon stays silent. 

“I’ll never understand what you see in her, except perhaps weakness. Does that arouse you Jon?” Daenerys asks.

And he knows she is baiting him but he has to close his eyes and steady his breathing. Explaining the reasons that he loves Sansa and not her will do nothing for the situation at hand and he knows this. 

When Jon opens his eyes Daenerys is leaning across the table, eyes open like a predator ready to pounce. 

“We are not here to discuss my relationships, Daenerys. What are your demands?”

Daenerys leans back, “Fine.”

She smiles slightly before beginning, “I will release your wife, unharmed if you meet several conditions.”

Jon waits, he expected nothing less.

“I want Rhaegal returned to me. I want Jaime and Cersei Lannister’s heads, promptly. I want all the Kingdoms to re-bend the knee, a new pledge of servitude, and children from all the major houses to foster in King’s Landing as collateral.”

Daenerys’ voice is dripping with smugness and really it’s not any less than he expects, the inclusion of Cersei and Jaime in the deal seems spiteful but it is the deal they expected her to make so why she feels so righteous is beyond Jon. They had discussed this eventuality and Jon is prepared with his responses.

“And if I tell you we cannot take that deal,” Jon asks. 

Daenerys looks genuinely taken aback, “I will kill your wife Jon. I will kill Sansa.”

Jon lets the words roll off him, he doesn’t flinch. 

“Sansa would tell me to fight, no matter the cost.”

Jon and Daenerys stare at one another, the woman bares her teeth. 

“Sansa said much the same thing Jon. But I know you, I know your honour. Yes you lie and you deceive but for those you love. You will die to protect those you love,” Daenerys knows she has him with these words, he can hardly deny their truth. 

“We will fight,” Jon says then and continues, “We have the men and we have Rhaegal. Your deal hinges on the agreement that we halt our forces, which we have only done to see what you have to say. But if you kill Sansa now it will not stop our forces and you cannot afford to lose your only bargaining chip when we will fight you either way. So your only option now is to fight us and win.”

Daenerys seems furious. She had been so certain that Sansa’s life was enough to stop the fighting altogether, and Jon wouldn’t deny that risking Sansa’s safety like this sent chills all through his body. After thinking about Theon’s words Jon had thought that it may work. When they had fought Ramsay he hadn’t listened to Sansa’s words (don’t do what the enemy is expecting) and so Jon had thought and they had all talked, what was the last thing she expected? And while Daenerys said she knew Jon, she forgets that he too knows something of her. She will make bad and harsh decisions in the moment, but Sansa was most at risk when they first took her. She will be in danger again when Daenerys feels helpless, when they start to lose, but with any luck they will have accounted for that. Daenerys can be rational when she doesn’t feel immediately threatened and it is what Jon is banking on, she knows Sansa is her best bet, she can’t take her off the board too soon.

Daenerys stands up.

“You have no idea the things I would do Jon,” She is speaking through her teeth, eyes bulging.

“Aye, but I do Daenerys, that has always been the problem,” Jon stands as well, “It is why I never could have loved you. Even if Sansa had not existed.”

It is a low blow, he will admit it but he knows he has triumphed this time. He can see it in Daenerys’ every movement. Sansa will remain safe for a while longer. And so he strides out of the tent, for once leaving Daenerys standing there speechless instead of her storming out on others. 

“I’ll see you on the battlefield,” Jon calls over his shoulder then turns back momentarily, “Or should I say the skies.”

In that quick glance he thinks Daenerys appears very small, she could pass for a young girl on the cusp of the rest of her life. He turns and the image dissolves, she is the shattered woman dangling on a precipice of madness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are really coming up on the end now, only a few chapters left! And oh, I love this chapter! As I said in my last one it features the first scene I wrote for this fic, the meeting between Sansa and Daenerys. It has been tweaked as the fic evolved but so much of the dialogue has remained unchanged. There is something dear to me about it. And the rest of this was so fun too! I loved writing the entire first half about everyone finding out about Sansa, gods that was fun to write, wickedly sad and heartbreaking but so good. Jon was so riled up so that was fun! I also love Missandei here, Missandei and Sansa is severely underrated, a duo we deserve. And then the Jon and Sansa flashback that was great to write too, I never tire of those early s8 AUs. And ending on Jon and Daenerys, not a scene I initially planned for but one I am so happy to have included (Even if I'm not fully happy with how that scene ended up, alas I have made peace with it). As ever, leave a comment, your support is the best thing ever :)


	16. desolation comes upon the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I loved writing this chapter and I hope you all enjoy it just as much! Not as long as the last few but still very exciting!

“Lady Stark,” Arya turns at the voice and sees Arianne Martell behind her, “They tell me that Gendry has woken up.”

Arya is left standing in the middle of their encampment as Arianne recedes into the crowd that is hastily preparing to go back into battle. But still. She had sought her out and then left her to it. It was something Arya respected, the way she seemed to know that Arya needed to know but also needed the time alone. And despite the sweat she feels pooling at the base of her spine she starts moving her way towards his tent. She doesn’t have time for this right now but she might not get another chance.

She makes it to Gendry’s tent quickly and pushes her way right inside. There are two Maesters attending to him and she raises her hand at the sight of them. 

“Out.”

“Lady Stark—”

“Now.”

It was not in Arya’s nature to be so commanding without good reason but the desperation of the times was forcing her to do things she would rather not. The Maesters both exit and then she allows herself to glimpse the man laying on the bed. 

She freezes. Gendry looks good, better than good. He looks healthy and incredibly alive. It is more than she had hoped for. 

“Gendry,” She breathes out and makes her way to his side, clutches his hand tightly. 

Gendry smiles crookedly, “My Lady, I believe you saved me if what I remember is true and not induced by a head trauma.”

Arya can’t speak; she knows if she opens her mouth now she will burst into tears so she just nods and looks at him. Wishes to transmit all the thoughts into him without having to voice them herself but she can’t. She has to get herself together, she’s running out of time too quickly.

“Thank you, Arya. I owe you my life,” Gendry is serious now and she notices that he looks a bit more reserved as if remembering the terms they parted on at Storm’s End. 

Arya shakes her head then blurts, “I love you Gendry. I love you.”

It comes out solid and sure, no hesitation and she notices how Gendry’s eyes widen at her declaration. 

“I’ve been an arse and I’m sorry. You know I’m absolutely terrible with all the feelings but I… I need you to know that. I don’t think you’re beneath me. I am going to be the Lady of Winterfell but I want you by my side, if you’ll have me,” Arya doesn’t loosen her grip the whole time she speaks and keeps her eyes trained steadily on his face. 

She doesn’t know where this courage is coming from but she thinks it must be from seeing him on the brink of death. She has run from this for much too long, so she will dive in head first now. 

Gendry is unblinking. He appears to be drinking her in.

“Arya, I—” Gendry starts.

“You don’t have to answer me right now—” Arya starts, scared suddenly and she loosens her grip on his hand. 

But he firms his hand around hers in response, “It would be my honour. Lady Stark, to be loved by you.”

And Gendry sits up a bit and pulls Arya down to him, their lips meeting in what feels to Arya like relief. Like coming home. She hadn’t known if she would get this chance again. She sinks herself into the kiss, pressing their lips together as if they will never touch again. (Arya doesn’t let herself think that they might not).

Too soon she has to pull away though, she doesn’t have time to waste. 

Gendry just smiles at her, still not seeing that anything is amiss.

“So have we won the war? I assume the fact that we are still alive is a good sign right?” Gendry says this lightly as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. 

In an instant though he detects the worried outline of Arya’s features and he is on guard, already on the defense. He’s never not looking out for her. 

“Arya. What’s wrong?” Gendry’s eyes are full of concern for her at that moment. 

And Arya knows she is going to cry before the words come out in a whisper, “She has Sansa. Daenerys took Sansa.”

Arya is crying, the tears coming out harsh and fierce, wracking her body with tremors. Gendry is pulling her to his chest in a swift motion and rocking her safely in her arms. He whispers soothing nothings into her hair and lets her cry it out. 

After a few minutes Arya composes herself and through sniffles she tells Gendry everything he has missed. 

“I’ll come with you,” Gendry says when she finishes, “I can help Arya, the more you have the better.”

Arya is already shaking her head, “You have to heal. The Maesters won’t want you running off and I don’t want that either. I’m going to have arrangements made to get you out of here, to have you brought back to Riverrun while you recover. Trust me, please.”

Gendry looks furious but one glance at Arya softens him. He sees that she is barely keeping it together, that this is hard for her but that it is right, that it is the only option in a sea of unpleasantries. 

“Promise me you’ll come back Arya,” Gendry’s voice is low and he pulls her forehead to his. 

They both close their eyes and sit like that for a moment on Gendry’s sickbed. Arya allows herself one last moment of peace. 

“I promise I will try,” Arya manages out and then she stands up. It is the best she can offer him. 

And before Gendry can respond further she is striding out of the tent for fear that she will never leave if she doesn’t get out now. She needs her strength going forward and Gendry weakens her resolve enough. As she closes the flaps behind her, her mind clears, Sansa becomes the forefront instantaneously.

~~~

“I don’t think we should delay, we should get into position while Daenerys takes to the skies,” Arya argues again.

“We’ve been over this Arya,” Jon starts and pinches the bridge of his nose. She knows that he likes it as little as he does but she won’t let it rest. 

Mercifully Bran interrupts them so Jon doesn’t have to fight his sister again. 

“My visions still revolve around Dragonfire Arya. If we can neutralize the threat of the Dragons then it will not come to be true. After that, Daenerys will likely withdraw to the Capital and when we storm it there will be chaos, that is our moment,” Bran explains the plan for what feels like the millionth time. 

Since his meeting with Daenerys yesterday Jon has been nothing but restless. He wants to move now, they will march in a few hours. Or in Jon’s case fly. It is late already and he foresees no sleep before mounting Rhaegal.

And he can’t think too much about that or his head will lead him down an even darker path. Riding Rhaegal last time had been terrifying enough but now with the intent of taking out Drogon it felt even more ominous. He had fought many battles but this would be altogether different. Literally another type of beast, and he didn’t know that he had the skills to pull it off. Daenerys had rode Drogon for years. Jon, at most, a few hours. It was a meek prospect but the plan depended on it and if he couldn’t pull it off then there would be no hope for Sansa and he couldn’t live with himself if that happened. 

“And if we got Sansa out before any of that then we wouldn’t have to worry about the fire either,” Arya remains adamant. 

“Arya,” Jon says firmly, “I hate leaving Sansa there any longer than necessary but it is simply too risky to act sooner. Cersei agrees with us as well. We know Sansa is strong, she can wait for us. You will all be prepared for when Drogon is dead and we will move then, as swiftly as possible, okay. You know I fear for her more than anyone.”

Arya looks down at her hands at that, a bit shamed. 

“I’m scared Jon,” Arya doesn’t meet his eye and he lets out a breath at the omission. 

He crosses the tent and kneels down, embracing her.

“I’m scared too Arya, but we have to do it. For her,” Jon whispers.

And then Jon feels a hand on his back and sees Bran has wheeled himself over to them and has joined their embrace. 

“I will not fail Sansa this time. I promise Arya, it is my fault she has been taken and we will all do what we can to get her back,” Bran says.

It is a fact he has not been dissuaded from even after many talks about how Bran acted as he felt was right, as did Sansa. There is no point in holding their secrecy against them now, it likely wouldn’t have changed the outcome even if they had shared what they knew. Jon knew this. 

And then the tent was being flooded with bodies, as the three siblings broke apart. Jon stood back up and turned to greet their team. 

After their initial talks with Cersei they had brought in more people, but only those who needed to know and who could be trusted were brought into the finer details of their plans. 

Jon looked around the room and considered the plan as it stood presently. After Jon had taken out Drogon (if he could, he thought against his will) he would join Arya, Brienne, Theon and Cersei in smuggling themselves into the city. In the meantime, Bran and Meera Reed would bunker down in an out of the way hiding spot on hand so Meera would be able to tell them if Bran saw anything that may be of use at the last minute. Left to oversee the storming of the city would be: Ladies– Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell, Lords– Robin Arryn, Edric Storm, Edmure Tully, then Ser Davos Seaworth and Tormund. Lastly and to Jon’s surprise, Ser Jaime Lannister. 

That had been a fight to witness, Jon thought wryly. 

~~~

“Jaime will lead the armies onto the seizure of the city. We will need to put up a united force and distract them,” Cersei had said this with certainty that first night and without any preamble.

Jaime’s head had swivelled so fast that Jon thought he would knock himself off his chair.

“You have fought against me going to battle this entire endeavour and now you are volunteering me to lead an army? What is going on Cersei?” Jaime had demanded and nobody else in the room had dared to interrupt the two.

Cersei just stared at him with an unreadable look but clearly Jaime had seen something in it because he spoke again. 

“Where will you be Cersei? There is no other reason you would advocate for this,” Jaime had spoken through his teeth. 

“I intend to be with the group rescuing Sansa Stark of course. You and I are the only ones who know of the route we are planning to take, it only makes sense Jaime,” Cersei had said this with an eerie calmness. 

Jaime had looked absolutely outraged at the mere idea of it. 

“Then let me come with you. You are completely untrained in battle Cersei, to go right into the Dragon’s Den? Are you out of your mind? Daenerys despises you!” Jaime had risen out of his seat as he said this, still the rest of the room remained silent. 

Cersei had remained calm, “I have always handled myself before Jaime. As I will now. Besides I will be with a group of the best swords in Westeros, I am not worried.”

Jaime had sat back down letting out a great breath, “And our children Cersei, have you thought of them?”

At that Cersei fumed, “I always think of them Jaime, you know that. Do not do this Jaime.”

They had reached an impasse it seemed and the two twins had just stared at each other, both of them unwavering in the belief that they were right. And then to Jon’s further surprise a new voice interrupted the two.

“I will protect and guard her Ser Jaime. You have my word, no harm will come to her,” Brienne had spoken and both the Lannisters eyes zeroed in on her in twinned surprise.

There were a few moments of silence and Jon had exchanged a look of awkward unsurety with Arya, they knew the history there. 

“Thank you Brienne,” Cersei regained composure first, “I would expect nothing less.”

Jaime had continued to stare and then he turned his head and murmured, “It appears I am outnumbered.”

He had been generally sulky the rest of the meeting and Jon could tell the conversation was unfinished between him and Cersei. But seeing them now tonight, Jon could tell that a peace had been made, they presented a united front and were prepared for what was to come. 

The tent, Jon realized belatedly, was waiting on him to speak, their King. In his prolonged silence though a voice broke through. 

“Shall we go over the plan once more Your Grace?” Arianne Martell, never timid, asks.

And so they settle into it and after another hour there is nothing left to be said. They all know their roles, for better or for worse, but Jon has one last thing to say.

He rises, “I have to thank all of you. For fighting this war with us, but especially now. Sansa, my wife. Our Queen. Nothing is more important to me than her safety but I will not abandon our people for this, yet because you have all agreed to this you give us a chance. I don’t know how to repay that.”

There are several different expressions across the room but mostly understanding and sympathy for Jon.

“It is not something to repay Your Grace. It is what honour demands, and House Arryn will stand by their words now more than ever,” Lord Robin Arryn rises with his words and Jon is amazed at how this war has turned a boy into a man despite the fact that it has happened to thousands before, seeing it first hand is remarkable. He nods at Robin.

“My niece deserves none of this Jon. The Dragon Queen is a wretched woman and we will not stop until our own Queen has been brought home safely,” Edmure agrees and rises as well. 

And lastly, “Queen Sansa is a truer Queen than Westeros has ever known. We will be there in the city when you rescue her, Your Grace. We will await her with upturned faces and victory in our blood because that is what she has inspired,” Arianne Martell smiles at him. 

This woman is a true friend to them both he thinks. Jon feels tears prick his eyes as he nods in turn to all those in the room. 

“Let’s bring her home,” Jon’s voice is soft and his eyes end on Arya and Bran, mirroring his own feelings of resolve on their faces. 

~~~

Sansa has always hated the waiting, it is nearly enough to break her she thinks. But it is all she has to do now. To wait for the opportunity to strike and hope that the plans they have laid will come to fruition. She can hardly act from the confines of this room but Daenerys has given her the best opportunity she could ask for when she provided her access to Missandei. Now she just had to believe that Missandei will remain steadfast and true in the face of all that was to come. 

The last couple days had been painfully slow for Sansa, she had not been summoned again and Daenerys had not been seen. Other than the serving girl who brought her food twice a day and had brought her water for a bath once since her arrival, there had been no other contact. Varys had not reappeared and Missandei had no reason to come to her chambers.

So, all Sansa had had to do was dwell on the situation and fear that she herself was being played and not the other way around. The window was more tempting all the time. But no. Sansa didn’t seriously consider it, though she thought of the girl she had been. The one who might have chosen death if it presented itself. She was not that girl any longer. 

However, the window was where she spent most of her time anyways. Her room was so high up and the window was sizable enough that she could see quite far. Not to mention it looked directly to where the battlefield was. It was far enough away that she would never be able to see anything other than a great mass moving against one another but it provided her some comfort that she would know if war was to start again. 

It troubled her that she didn’t know if it would. 

She went over the scenarios in her mind and there was too much she didn’t know. Daenerys had told her that she planned to kill Sansa no matter what. This was no comfort obviously but Daenerys was not always the most adept liar. Maybe Jon would realize Daenerys was concealing something and adapt his plans to suit? But then what would Jon’s plans even be?

These circular thoughts had plagued Sansa for hours and so she instead walked over to her table and decided to eat the meal that had been brought to her a few hours ago now. She knew that keeping some modicum of strength would be important. She ate slowly, savoring the food and taking her time with it since there was nothing else to do. 

It was because of this that she missed the ongoings outside her window. And when she pushed her plate away and made her way back she was startled to find that the previously empty battlefield was suddenly full of soldiers, soldiers who were about to meet and fight from the looks of it.

She fiddled desperately with the clasp on the window and then opened the doors wide. It was silly but she wanted as much information as possible. The sounds were far off but she could hear faint yet unmistakable sounds of war. It brought her no relief. 

She wondered if Arya was out there. Or Theon. Brienne? Davos? Arianne? All those she cared for. Or even Jon himself though she saw no dragons in sight. That thought made her wonder something new. If there was a battle going on… was Daenerys gone from the castle? It meant nothing to her in truth because it changed little of her circumstances but for some reason it gave her some ease of mind to think that Daenerys was far off at the moment. 

As Sansa watches the ensuing clashing of their armies she lets her mind wander. There is no point in focusing on the fighting, it is too hard to make anything out, even which side is winning. But then she is startled.

She is startled because someone is knocking on her door. Knocking. How strange, it cannot be time for food again already and they never knock anyways they just come in. Is it Missandei? Varys? But what of the guard?

She steps lightly towards the door and almost hesitates to open it.

When she does she is surprised, but she thinks maybe she should’ve known, to see Tyrion standing before her. 

“Lady Stark,” Tyrion nods and then just walks right past her into the room. He has a wine glass in his hand, full of a scarlet liquid and she notices he has a flagon of it in his other hand. 

“I’d offer you a drink but I doubt Daenerys would appreciate the gesture,” Tyrion says absently.

Before Sansa can even process what is happening he is pulling a chair up to her table and looking out to the battlefield himself.

“Best view of the battle I think. Come, have a seat Sansa. I mean you no harm,” Tyrion says without looking at her, instead taking a deep drink from his goblet. 

And Sansa doubts that. Tyrion has meant nothing but harm for a long time. Although she has little choice but to obey. So she pulls her other chair to the table and joins him.

“I’ve been meaning to come and talk to you for a while now Sansa,” Tyrion muses while still looking out the window.

Sansa does not respond. 

“I’ve taken little pleasure in this whole affair but you hardly left us any choice. Aligning with my sister and starting a rebellion. Hardly up to your standard I would say,” Tyrion continues. 

“We are winning,” Sansa says, deadpan. 

Tyrion turns to her then, “Are you? Yet my Queen has you captive.”

“My life has nothing to do with the outcome of this war Tyrion,” Sansa answers easily.

Tyrion stares at her for several moments, “You are incredibly smart Sansa but often completely unaware of your own importance. I suppose it is an admirable quality, humility. But you are wrong, I think your life may just decide the outcome of this war altogether.”

Sansa is silenced by his words, surprised by the truth of them and the perception he has. She had had the thought herself. So instead she stares out to the raging battlefield. 

A few minutes pass before Tyrion speaks, “Why did you do it Sansa? You hate my dear sister more than anyone, and you are justified in it. You can’t think she has truly changed.”

Sansa turns back to Tyrion then and considers him. She thinks him half the man she once knew. Too much drink has started to wear on him and he appears dreadfully tired. He isn’t as quick or clever either she knows.

“I hate your Queen more,” Sansa says simply and it is the truth, it all comes down to that fact really, “And Cersei is far from the woman you once knew.”

Tyrion takes a long drink at that and a stormy look comes over his features. 

Sansa speaks then, initiating for the first time, “Why did you help them escape Tyrion?”

Tyrion is silent for so long she thinks he won’t respond whatsoever. He just stares out the window contemplatively. 

“I love my brother,” Tyrion starts without moving, “And I thought that he deserved the life I could help them find. Cersei was an unavoidable part of that. And maybe part of me has never hated her as much as I made out to.”

Tyrion takes another swig then and Sansa doesn’t answer him. She understands that this conversation will go nowhere good if they continue on this path. So she changes direction. 

“You still believe in her?” Sansa asks and she doesn’t have to clarify who she speaks of.

Tyrion laughs then, “I have chosen my path long ago Sansa. There is no straying now.”

His voice sounds bitter, resentful. And Sansa realizes that Tyrion is nothing but a man haunted by his past, his mistakes, and most of all himself. Followed around by demons of his own creation. And she pities him.

And then both Sansa and Tyrion are both startled by a great roar coming from far off in the distance. 

“Dragons…” Sansa breathes.

And sure enough. A great Dragon comes roaring over the battlefield and without hesitation an entire strip of the battle is burned to ashes.

Sansa is on her feet before she knows what she is doing. 

Tyrion however seems unmoved, “There is nothing we can do Sansa.”

Sansa turns to him, angry now, “There were many things you could’ve done Tyrion, but you chose time and time again not to act. Your Queen burns my people and her own alike.”

“She does it for Westeros,” Tyrion sounds as if he is repeating something he has said to himself many times. 

Sansa rolls her eyes. 

“Why has she left you here anyways?” Sansa turns her eyes back to the battle and sees that Drogon is circling the field again. 

“She deemed my services unnecessary. She doesn’t fully trust me yet, even after I orchestrated your kidnapping. She has her great warriors Ser Jorah and Grey Worm and her advisors Lady Missandei and Lord Varys, why should she need her hand?” Tyrion seems unaware of his words but Sansa reels at them.

Of course, this kidnapping was Tyrion’s doing, Daenerys would not have been able to act on this all alone. It makes sense now, how his shackles had been released only when they had returned with Sansa in tow. 

“Your Queen is fickle, I know not how you can abide fearing for your life constantly,” Sansa says and it is Tyrion’s turn to remain silent at her words. 

Just then there is a second great roar and another dragon joins the field. Rhaegal.

Jon.

Sansa holds her breath. And then the two dragons are colliding. They are coming at one another and then rearing apart. There is fire and smoke and a cacophony of roars that makes Sansa’s heart feel tight in her chest. 

She can hardly peel her eyes from the display in front of her but she can feel that beside her Tyrion is just as tense. Ensnared by watching the last two Targaryens come at each other atop the last two dragons. Even blinking becomes impossible, her eyes burn. She wonders what it must look like from below. 

There is a stream of fire that comes from Rhaegal and Sansa thinks that it must hit Daenerys directly based on where it was going, even though she can’t see the woman. But nothing changes in the battle so she supposes she was only thinking wishfully. 

The battle is waged indefinitely. There is no end. No dragon can gain an edge. They just circle and snap at each other over and over again. It is exhausting and it seems completely unreal to her that Jon is riding one of these beasts in the middle of all this. 

“The power…” Tyrion says as if he is actually in awe of these horrible creatures. 

Sansa snaps then, “That’s what it has always been with you isn’t it? Seeking power because your father hated you? Men and their power. Idiots. Did you feel powerful when you choked the life out of Shae too?”

The last bit actually stuns Sansa because it hadn’t been something she intended to bring up with Tyrion. Littlefinger had told her of it ages ago and Bran had filled in the gory details for her when she had inquired. It made her stomach turn. But confronting Tyrion about it now seemed only foolish.

Tyrion actually turns from the scene before him and sets down his goblet. Refills it and drinks. 

“I didn’t realize you knew of that,” He says and wipes his mouth, “Sansa you must understand—”

“Shut up Tyrion. I have no interest in your excuses,” Sansa remains focused on the battle, refusing to let the tears for the only woman she had truly considered a friend in King’s Landing spill forth. 

And Tyrion, to her surprise, obeys. He turns back to the window, and just in time. 

Because something is shifting. And Sansa feels her hands clench as she feels it is not for the best. No, she thinks Rhaegal is faltering, if subtly. And then she knows because his wing is hit by a stream of Drogon’s fire and she lets out a gasp. But what happens next only makes matters worse.

She sees a figure slip from behind the dragon. It is so far away he is no more than a blip of black falling through the air but it is Jon. Sansa screams, earth shattering and laced with pain. 

Every nerve in her body is alight with fear. She must do something. She knows it is hopeless and she feels as if the whole scene is slowing down. 

But then Rhaegal is nose diving, faster than she thought possible and she can’t see anything clearly as he careens towards the ground. All she sees is Drogon following and she sees the fire chasing Rhaegal, sees it burning him up.

Then Rhaegal is on the ground and she thinks it is the end. He had hovered for a few moments above the ground but then collapsed the last fifty feet. And Drogon is on top of him. There is some sort of scuffle and then Drogon is flying up and away.

Sansa feels the tears falling on her face, hot and steady. There is no way Jon could’ve survived that. She couldn’t see everything that happened clearly with Rhaegal but Jon must be… 

She hasn’t completed the thought when her brain catches up with what she is seeing. Rhaegal has not risen but Drogon is barely able to fly straight. There is something falling behind him? Streaming out? And then Sansa realizes it is blood. Blood that looks like it is coming from his neck. Rhaegal must have bit his neck when they had fought on the ground. 

And before Sansa can even hope for it, Drogon is crashing, crashing into Blackwater bay. There is a great splash and several large bubbles, visible even from their great distance. 

Sansa and Tyrion stand stockstill. They stare out at the battlefield where the soldiers still fight. Drogon does not resurface. 

Tyrion lets out a breath and then, “Well fuck.”

Sansa feels as if she might pass out. The dragons are dead, from what she can tell. Both of them. Daenerys might be as well. But Jon likely is too. Her whole body is hot and she wants to collapse.

So instead, she lets her heart close. Finds the last bit of strength she can and thinks of her and Jon’s children. If he is gone, then she is all they have left and she refuses to let his sacrifice be in vain. No, she will see this war to its bitter end.

~~~

Daenerys is drowning. Everything around her is distorted and her first realization is that she can’t breathe. She’s flailing, on the verge of full panic and just mindlessly pushing her body and looking for the surface when she breaks through and takes in a gasping breath.

Water comes spewing out of her lungs in loud gurgles and she’s coughing but she’s alive. What the hell happened? Everything seemed fine, they had taken down Rhaegal, she thinks Jon too, she knew he had slipped from Rhaegal. And then they attacked Rhaegal, pinned him to the ground to finish him off. 

And then it comes back to her in pieces. Rhaegal, with his dying breath had taken a huge bite of Drogon’s neck, there had been blood everywhere and Drogon had fled. Or he had tried to and then they had been falling, falling fast and then darkness. The water. 

Daenerys had to use all her strength to keep herself above the water, waves lapping gently around her as she started to search for Drogon. He couldn’t be dead, he simply couldn’t be. Her last dragon. Her last child, the only children she will ever have. Her body starts to shake. And not from the icy water.

Then she looks at the water and realizes that it is turning red around her. She doesn’t stop to think. She dives back down. She is swimming deep, as far as she can manage when she catches a glimpse of something.

She propels herself even further and somehow, even under water, the image takes on a sick clarity. It is Drogon, sinking down to the bottom of the water. Dying, and there is nothing she can do. Idly she realizes that blood is still pouring from the gash in his neck but all she feels is as if someone has ripped her open, right down the middle and torn her clear in two.

She stops fighting. Her body gives out. She moves no more, and slowly, slowly she floats back to the surface. When she breaks from the water her lungs burn but she isn’t even gasping for air, she is in shock. And for a few minutes she simply floats. She sees the water, tinted deep red now and thinks that from above it would appear as if she was bathing in blood. She lets out a strangled laugh at that as tears seep from her eyes. 

She wishes she could bathe in blood. And then awareness finds her. Her dragons are gone, but is she not the blood of the dragon? She still has Sansa. And this fact alone pushes her to carry on in the face of her devastation. She had understood that she needed to sacrifice Rhaegal, that Viserion had been lost to her for years but she had never honestly believed that Drogon would fall. No, he had been so strong, so steady for her, integral to her very being, for years. And yet he would drown here in an unremarkable bay. 

Daenerys starts to kick her legs to push herself towards the shore. She grits her teeth and seethes with rage. This is Jon’s fault, Jon took all this from her. And while he was likely dead she could still punish Sansa. Jon and Sansa. They had taken everything from her, they had pushed her so far along this path of darkness that she saw no point of return before her. She would have order. She would have submission. And she would have her throne. No matter who had to die for her to achieve that. She’d slice the woman’s throat herself if she had to.

And then Daenerys’ feet hit the sand and she stands up. 

The wind chills her instantly but she hardly cares, there are much more important things now than discomfort. But before she reaches the sandy shore and leaves the water she catches her reflection in the water. It is distorted but she can fill in the blanks. 

She is soaking wet. Her skin and hair tinged red with Drogon’s blood. And oh. Her hair. She had nearly forgotten. A good length of it had been singed off by Rhaegal. It had been a near thing on Drogon’s back but he had protected her as he always did. So her hair fell just to her shoulders, still blackened at the ends and fully burned off on the right side, a ghost of a burn turning her scalp an angry shade of pink. 

Despite being in the water, dirt clung to her body and she saw several scratches and cuts, on her arms and neck, her face. Her dress and jacket had been torn down the left side, leaving her whole left shoulder, arm, and side to her hip exposed. The tears continued down to the skirts and it cut diagonally from her left hip down to the right ankle. Her dress was held together by a three inch section on her waist that had remained intact.

She took a deep breath and kicked at the water, making her reflection disappear. She was worn down, tarnished. But she had the dragon's blood in her veins. And her image now, it would only serve to scare the people before her more. Let them see that she does not fall so easily. That she will take what is hers with fire and blood (her own, if need be).

So she sets her jaw and takes off towards her castle. To find Sansa Stark.

~~~

Daenerys makes it to the castle undetected by the fighting but it’s a near thing. The battle is pushing back to the city limits and she doesn’t know how she manages but she does. Inside the city walls there are panicked civilians everywhere. And they see her, it’s unavoidable.

It takes a few moments but then there are whispers. The people recognize their Queen. And she thinks for a moment that they will bow down before her, that they will lead a procession for her back to the castle. She is wrong. There are murmurs and all she sees is fear on their faces. She knows intimately the power of a mob and as such picks up her pace before they can get any ideas, luckily arriving unscathed. 

She makes it through the halls of the castle, it is quiet and she meets nobody. She has dried off on her walk but the blood and soot still clings to her skin, her boots leave water and dirt where she walks. And when she bursts into the throne room she is met by five different expressions of shock.

Missandei and Grey Worm stand off to the right side, he has his arm around her and has a sling around his left arm. They appear speechless but she doesn’t think she finds relief there. Ser Jorah is next and he goes to his knees at the sight of her, he seems unharmed and she can see tears forming in his eyes, a whispered ‘Khaleesi’ escapes him. Lord Varys looks at her as if seeing her for the first time and she imagines that he sees her state, her heaving chest and for once maybe he is finally inspired by the sight of her, left in awe. Or perhaps it is something else. And there is Tyrion in the centre of them, too close to the throne for Daenerys’ liking and he looks half terrified at the sight of her. Good. 

“Yes. I know. You all thought me dead. Again, just like last time you saw me fall. You would think,” She has to take a breath here as her voice is hoarse, “that you would all learn to have more faith in the mother of dragons.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion takes a hesitant step towards her, “Your dragons…” 

Daenerys sets her shoulders and squares herself towards them, “They are dead. All of them. Yet I live.”

And this is the moment she thinks. She is without her weapons that inspire fear and loyalty. If anyone has any grievance with her, now is the time to act. When she has been this gravely weakened. But nobody moves. 

“Khaleesi, I am so sorry—” Jorah looks to her with a gaze of longing and pity but she cuts him off.

“I don’t have time to mourn them now, we have things to do. I suspect. I should say, I hope Jon Snow is dead but I can’t be sure. What happens with the battle?” Daenerys asks this and strides to her throne, taking a seat more in relief than anything, she still has this. She grips it tightly though as if it will collapse beneath her. 

Grey Worm speaks up, “They press into the surrounds of the city, we cannot hold them much longer, we should recede and close the doors. Prepare for a siege. It is our best chance.”

Daenerys takes a deep breath. She hates it, but what else is there to do. 

“Send the message,” she says with resignation. 

Grey Worm and Jorah both leave the room in a hurry at her words. 

“I need Sansa, is she in her rooms?” Daenerys says and rises after a moment of contemplation. 

A look of unease passes between her three remaining advisors. 

“Your Grace, I watched the battle with her there. I left her when we saw you fall. She is barricaded but…” Tyrion trails off. 

Daenerys stares at him, wondering where this is going. 

“She grieves, Your Grace. She believes Jon lost to her. I don’t recommend—” Varys speaks and she talks right over him.

“I care not for her losses Lord Varys! What of my losses? I will go to her now. The suffering that her husband brought me will now be hers to bear. We are at war! Do not presume to tell me what I can do with my prisoners,” Daenerys fumes further as she sees Varys’ brows knitting together.

But Varys is cowed by her words and he stands down. She cannot believe the incompetence around her and it pushes her further over the edge. 

“I will go now,” She says and makes her way to the door.

“Khaleesi, wait!” Missandei’s voice comes out clear and her hand closes over Daenerys’ forearm.

She turns, to perhaps the only true friend she ever had. 

“Let me come with you. Lady Stark may be in quite a state and there could be danger, we had to send her guard to the fighting so it would just be you alone,” Missandei gives her a small smile.

And Daenerys returns it. Feeling their years side by side collapse into this one show of fidelity. Where would she be without Missandei she wonders?

“Let us go then,” Daenerys nods and they stride out together. 

They make their way through the castle quickly and quietly, no words pass between them and soon they arrive at Sansa’s chambers. 

Daenerys doesn’t pause for a second, she lifts the barricade and throws open the door. The sight before her leaves her speechless. 

Sansa stands in front of her wardrobe’s mirror. Tears are streaming freely down her face and she has her dress pulled taut to her stomach. Her hands resting there. On top a small but obvious bump.

She turns, sees Daenerys and lets the fabric fall. A look of horror crosses her face and the women are locked in place, just breathing the other in. 

“You’re pregnant,” Daenerys’ voice comes out in small gasps, “I have lost my children and you stand here before me, ripe with child. With Jon’s child. Of course. Of course you would.”

Daenerys knows she sounds hysterical that she is on the edge of a dangerous cliff but she can’t seem to find solid ground now. 

In one fell swoop she lunges across the room and by some small miracle clasps the small dagger she had enclosed in her robes this morning before mounting Drogon, it has remained despite her descent into the water.

She grabs Sansa by her hair and pulls the dagger to her neck. 

“You are coming with us. Now!” Daenerys applies pressure to the pulse point on Sansa’s neck and revels in the small whimper the other woman lets out. 

“Daenerys don’t—” She tries to fight back.

“Silence!” Daenerys yanks hard on her hair and applies more pressure, drawing one rivulet of blood. 

“Your Grace,” Missandei says and she nearly forgot the woman was with her. Missandei’s voice is steady and calm, “You don’t want to kill her yet. We may still need her. Let us go back to the throne room.”

And she is suddenly glad that she brought Missandei. She is unsure if she would have been able to reign herself in. Show restraint and use cool logic at the sight of Sansa’s pregnant stomach. But Missandei is right. 

Missandei turns to lead them back and Daenerys gives Sansa a shove, forcing her to walk while she still holds the knife to her neck, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

“Not so mighty now are we, Wolf Queen?” Daenerys hisses in her ear as they make their way back to the throne room. 

They arrive and she sees that Grey Worm and Jorah have rejoined them. She doesn’t loosen her grip on Sansa as they enter. Missandei goes to stand by Grey Worm.

Daenerys makes eye contact with each of them in turn.

“This is where we rise. In the hall of my ancestors. It will be our final stand,” Daenerys’ voice is strong again, made so by Sansa’s blood pulsing under her knife and alight with the ancient magic of dragons that flows in her veins. She is no longer afraid of what is to come. 

~~~

Jon’s ears are ringing and that is all he knows. Everything is black and his ears are ringing. He tries desperately to grasp for something in front of him but he lacks any awareness. It is just endless confusion and pounding and his ears won’t stop ringing. Slowly he starts to feel his body, but he wishes he didn’t because it aches everywhere and he feels something heavy on him, as if something is on his legs. And he still can’t move.

“Your Grace!” The yelling starts and it does not help the ringing in his head, at all. 

This alternates for what feels like ages. Your Grace and ringing. There is no sense of time. But then the yells get closer, Jon only knows this because they get louder. Yet he still has no sense of what is happening around him. 

And then hands are on his shoulders, shaking him slightly.

“Your Grace! Your Grace, thank god you're alive! Wake up!”

Jon starts to feel something prick in the back of his mind, a plan? Dragons? What was it again?

“Your Grace? Come help me, get this beast off him!”

Jon hears many more footsteps, muffled voices and then the pressure on his legs is eased. 

“Jon? Your Grace, you have to wake up.”

Something about his name stirs in Jon. He is Jon. Jon Snow. Jon Targaryen. No. Jon Stark.

He blinks open his eyes.

He is surrounded by a small group of men. Five or six, and the one rousing him is Lord Robin Arryn. 

“Thank god, we have to get him out of here. Now!” Robin commands his men as they start to ready their horses.

“Jon are you going to be okay to ride?”

It seems like an unanswerable question to Jon at the moment. 

“What happened?” Jon’s voice sounds wrong to himself, but at least the ringing has started to subside.

Robin Arryn seems to let out a long sigh.

“We saw your dragon go down and rode here as fast as we could, I think everyone else is too preoccupied with the fighting. Daenerys flew off on Drogon but he collapsed over Blackwater Bay, bleeding out by the looks of it. Rhaegal must’ve got him good,” Robin turns his head to the dragon beside them that Jon has just noticed.

Ahh. That was what the weight had been. The wing of his dragon. Of Rhaegal.

“Is he…” Jon trails off as his eyes scan Rhaegal.

“Dead, Your Grace. I’m sorry,” Robin sounds anything but for the beast although Jon appreciates the sentiment. 

It is odd, Jon thinks, to lose a Dragon. When he lost Ghost during the Long Night, it had been a crushing blow, a wound that had never fully closed. But with Rhaegal, Jon felt more as if he had been untethered. Not in an unpleasant way necessarily but as if he noticed the absence of something that had been inside him for a while now. Again, strange. 

“We have to go, we have to get you out of here and to those waiting, they won’t wait much longer I would think,” Robin is standing now and giving his hand to Jon.

It takes him a moment, because suddenly it all comes rushing back to him. The war. Daenerys. Their plan, and most importantly. Sansa. Sansa needs him and he is laying in the mud on a battlefield. He reaches his hand up to Robin.

He helps pull him to his feet and Jon feels unsteady but by some miracle he is largely uninjured. Mostly he is disoriented from the fall. The fall. He remembers being knocked from Rhaegal and plummeting to what he had assumed was a sure death, but instead of hitting something hard, he had hit something well not soft but definitely not ground. And so he assumed Rhaegal must have caught him, protected him. And he didn’t remember much after that. But from what Robin had told him, the first part of their plan was complete. The dragons were neutralized. They needed to act now.

Jon takes a few more seconds to regain his balance and on second thought he concedes this weakness, “I may need to ride second with someone.”

Robin doesn’t even blink, he calls for one of his men and says, “You will ride with your King while he recovers. Let’s go.”

The boy, who can’t be much younger than Robin looks pale and frightened but manages a strangled, “Of course Your Grace, it would be my honour.”

And so they mount and go galloping away from Rhaegal’s now rotting body. 

~~~

They make it to the cave just outside of the city where they planned to keep Meera Reed and Bran close on hand in case of any last minute emergencies or changes to plan in under thirty minutes. The ride had been rough but Jon felt his strength rebuilding and he confirmed that he didn’t have any major injuries, nothing that couldn’t wait. 

When they dismounted Jon had turned his back for one second only to suddenly be crushed from behind. 

“Jon!” And he recognizes the voice at once, Arya.

He turns in the embrace to hug his sister properly.

“I told you he had lived,” Bran says, sounding slightly chastising. And Jon looks up to see Bran and Meera Reed at the mouth of the cave. 

Jon looks down at Arya who just rolls her eyes.

“She didn’t believe me, has been pacing since the moment your dragon fell. I nearly had to have Brienne restrain her from running out to you,” Bran says as his chair is rolled forward. 

Arya lets Jon go and from the cave come out Cersei, Theon, and Brienne. Their rescue team. 

“We need to move as soon as possible,” Cersei says, this woman wastes no time but Jon has to agree with her on this, there is simply no time to spare. 

From behind Jon, Robin Arryn speaks.

“Me and my men will return to the battlefield, we’ll make sure that the ears who need to know you survived are found and informed,” Robin remounts his horse and his men follow suit, “They are pressing towards the city as we speak and should break through soon enough even assuming they fall back in and close us out.”

Before they ride away he turns back, “Go rescue my cousin, Your Grace. Our Queen.”

And then he is riding off with his men behind him.

“I didn’t think he had it in him,” Theon says with a chuckle. 

“War makes men out of boys,” Brienne says from beside him.

“Aye and what does it do to women then?” Theon jokes, and Jon can tell Brienne knows he means it only in jest, but she gives good as she gets.

“Why, war makes women into warriors of course,” Brienne smirks. 

Theon is left speechless and none of them argue with Brienne as they know she doesn’t mean just on the battlefield. No, Sansa, Cersei, they are warriors in their own right. In their own ways and they wouldn’t win this war without them. 

“It’s time,” Bran says, “Make haste.”

And so their party takes their leave. Arya and Jon both pause to hug their brother goodbye, but there's something in Jon’s blood assuring him he will see him again. A feeling that he doesn’t often experience but one he will welcome all the same. 

When they are finished the five of them head into the depths of the cave, into Cersei’s secret path into the city.

Cersei is at their head, Theon and Brienne following closely behind her and almost struggling to keep up to the woman’s surprisingly steady pace. Jon notices she doesn’t turn her head back once. He can’t help but think that Sansa would do the same thing, all brimming with confidence and assurance, never showing a sign of weakness. 

And Jon and Arya bring up the rear. In the dark he whispers to her. 

“For Sansa.”

Arya’s eyes almost glow in the dim light and she nods grimly. He sees her grip Needle tighter as they all forge forward into the Dragon’s den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Daenerys' section for this was so thrilling, I love writing her descent and now we are here, fully unhinged. I had such a clear picture of her emerging from the water like a fallen god, clinging to life by sheer will and I hope that came through. I also thoroughly enjoyed writing Sansa and Tyrion's part. I needed to have them together in a room before the end and I decided a while back that the second battle on the dragons would be written from an outsider perspective to both heighten the tension (we don't know what is happening immediately either) and to change it up!
> 
> Only a couple chapters left, I think two more and then the epilogue. Thank you all again for your continued support, leave a comment and tell me what you are enjoying :)
> 
> (Also! I will be participating in the Jonsa 2020 Drabblefest, from May 10-17. I have already written all my drabbles for the week so be sure to check them out and the other creators!)


	17. sweet thing, but she plays to win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A surprise early chapter! As we get to the end I am eager to complete the story so I hope you enjoy! I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be out but I will be working on it as quick as I can, hopefully within a week!

Cersei’s feet squelch in her boots as they traverse the tunnels that will lead them under the castle. It won’t be long now, she thinks. She hears the others behind her but she hasn’t looked back once since they entered the tunnel. It isn’t in her nature, not one bit, not even now in the lair of their enemies. She lifts up her skirts to stop them from skimming the mud and water that pools in the depths of this dank dungeon. Jaime had tried to convince her to wear something more practical but Cersei had refused, if she were to return to King’s Landing it would not be as anything less than a Queen, even if she would never hold that title again. 

Jaime. Her thoughts stray then as she continues to walk and she loses herself in the memory of their agreement after the proposal of her plan.

“You could have told me sooner, you didn’t have to spring it on me like that,” Jaime said the moment they were alone in their tent. 

Cersei whirls back on him, “I’d only just thought of it Jaime, the plan was coming together much too fast for any private discussions obviously.”

Jaime’s eyes soften then, the fight from earlier slowly dwindling from him, “You don’t have to do this Cersei. You can stay here, stay safe. For me.”

Cersei considers him. She tries hard to think about his words objectively and tries to imagine it. Imagine staying behind, hiding and praying. The picture in her head just doesn’t fit her and he should know this.

“I have to do this Jaime. I do,” Cersei says. 

Jaime steps towards her, puts his hands on his arms and talks quietly, “Cersei, it’s not your fault she was taken.”

Cersei looks up at him, she knows that if she asked him to take her from here, if she asked him to flee and smuggle them to Winterfell. To take their children and run as far as they can, he would have them gone in five minutes. But returning to Westeros had been about rectifying her old errors not repeating them. She cannot allow herself to come this far to back down now. Not when she has debts to pay.

“Part of it is,” Cersei sees Jaime’s lips parting in protest, “Don’t argue. If I hadn’t come back home and started this war, Sansa would likely be safe in Winterfell at this very moment. Let me do this Jaime, let me help them.”

Jaime considers her words, and she can pinpoint the exact moment he accepts defeat when his shoulders slump and he looks at her. Beautiful devastation etched into his eyes. 

“Why do we always end up here? Forced into separation?” Jaime says and pulls her into his chest.

Cersei breathes him in. He’s not wrong, but they’re so close. Everything they have endured, it’s been for this. For their house, for their family. Maybe their father would be proud now, despite it all. All three of his children are showing they will do whatever they can to ensure the legacy survives, it had been all he ever wanted. It brings a sick satisfaction to Cersei now, ever eager to be praised by Tywin Lannister, even years after his death. Is this what you wanted father, she thinks?n

“We’re near the end Jaime, Daenerys won’t last. Not this time. Once her dragons are taken out we will win, the only question that remains is if Sansa will as well. I have the opportunity to ensue she does,” Cersei says. 

Jaime squeezes her tighter and she closes her eyes. Allows herself this last moment where it is just the two of them in a fight against the world. 

Her love with Jaime had been a selfish thing, for her whole life. As his was for hers. It had ended lives and caused destruction across the realm. Even in fleeing Westeros they had chosen each other and their own needs. But for the first time, Cersei thought that their love would give them the strength to aid others. Jaime would spearhead the battle in King’s Landing and Cersei would lead their rescue party. Two halves of a plan meant to save them all. 

“Just don’t die on me Jaime,” Cersei means it to come out light but her voice catches, “Don’t die on me.”

A few tears leak out her eyes and she shoves her face into Jaime’s chest but he tilts her chin up towards him. 

“How will I show our enemies what Lannisters are if I let them kill me?” Jaime has half a smirk but Cersei only looks at him as if to say it isn’t the time. 

Jaime lets Cersei go then, takes her hand and leads them over to their bed. They both sit. And he places his hands on her knee.

“When you were with Robert. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to rip the man in two, I wanted to inflict pain that I knew he inflicted on you. On me. That was righteous anger. My anger now is fueled by something different. Joanna and Ciseron wait for us at home, now we fight for them. Do you understand Cersei?”

Cersei wipes her eyes.

“Father always said you had no head for leadership, but he was wrong. You have led me, all these years, I wouldn’t be here without you,” Cersei places a hand on his cheek.

“Or I you,” Jaime kisses her then and Cersei loses herself in the only man she has ever loved. For what she prays won’t be the last time, “Father was wrong about you to sweet sister, he never saw the potential you had to be his legacy.”

Now, in the tunnels below King’s Landing, Cersei can hardly believe that conversation happened not even a full three days ago. Her goodbye with Jaime this morning had been swift. A few whispered words, a brief embrace, and a kiss filled with passion and promises, leaving her head spinning. But when she had stood and watched Jaime ride off into battle she hadn’t felt as if history was repeating, she felt as if they were changing the ending. 

Cersei stops suddenly then, almost walking too far, “Here.”

Behind her, the rest of them halt as well and she turns to face them. 

“This tunnel will lead us underneath the Red Keep, where the Targaryen dragon skulls are kept and we can sneak into the castle from below,” Cersei says.

There is some skepticism in their faces and it’s Theon Greyjoy who voices it, “If it’s this easy to sneak into the castle why has nobody done it before?”

Cersei levels him with a look, “Easy? Would you have made it the last near hour of walking without my assistance, there were no less than thirty turns, and hardly anyone knows about the passage at the back of the cave we entered.”

She looks at the rest of them, daring them to question her further. 

“Then let’s move, every minute we waste endangers Sansa further,” Jon pushes past the rest of them into the tunnel and the remainder of them follow him into its depths. 

Cersei knows it’s a straight shot into the main chamber from this point so she doesn’t insist on being the one to lead them in. She can tell that by the set of Jon’s shoulders he is on a mission and there is not anything that will stop him.

They walk for another few minutes and no words pass between them. Then the procession comes to a stop and Cersei thinks she knows why. They’re standing in the room where Robert had the dragon skulls moved to. 

It’s not something new to Cersei, but for the rest of them. Well, she lets them have their moment to take it in.

“The Targaryens…” Arya’s voice sounds almost reverent as she goes up to one of the skulls and touches it. 

“They were tyrants and nearly brought devastation to all of Westeros, Arya,” Jon’s voice is gruff and maybe a bit too defensive Cersei thinks. He knows that this part of this history is his as well. 

“Still,” Theon says and comes to stand behind Jon, “You have to admit that the dragons were pretty cool.”

Theon is talking in jest but Jon’s eyes narrow into slits, “They killed more people than they ever helped.”

“Your Grace,” this time it’s Brienne who speaks, “You saved all of us today and you couldn’t have done that without Rhaegal, it must make up for it, even if a little.”

Cersei looks at the other woman out the corner of her eye. And despite her past misgivings she’s happy to have her here today. She balances the other three fiery tempers she has to deal with (and maybe herself too if she’s being honest).

Jon studies Brienne for a long while and Cersei can see that he is deeply weighing her words, as if lives are a quantifiable thing that one can measure out and make up for. Cersei knows first hand that it doesn’t work like that. She will never give back the lives she took from the sept, nor does she want to. But even if she considers the lives this war could save from Daenerys. Well, she won’t be receiving any applause for it, it doesn’t balance the scales.

Jon might come to the same conclusion but she isn’t sure as he finally nods his head at Brienne without speaking. Regardless, he sees no point in arguing. 

“We shouldn’t linger here, we’re so close now,” Cersei says. 

She has given them enough time to consider the skulls around them, to consider the history. The historic dynasty they intend to end today. Because Cersei knows that Jon is no Targaryen, regardless of what his blood tells them. No, the boy is Ned Stark reborn, funny how that is when he is only his uncle. Ned Stark in every way, just as Cersei has seen that Sansa is Catelyn. They have become quite the pair in the intervening years. Cersei thinks that maybe one day they will sing songs about the Starks, about the Ice Queen and her flaming fire red hair, sharing the throne with her Ice King and the fire smoldering in his veins. That they’ll call their story one of Ice and Fire. A perfectly balanced yet slightly dangerous pair. 

“The entrance to the castle above is just up ahead,” Cersei continues when she realizes that they’re all waiting for her to lead them further. 

“Wait,” to Cersei’s surprise, it’s Jon, “We need to discuss what we are walking into up there.”

“Jon we already have gone over things, there’s no time,” Arya looks at him with a thousand questions in her eyes. 

“We can’t risk any mistakes now, tell us again Cersei,” Jon insists and turns his worried eyes to Cersei’s emerald green ones.

Cersei takes in a breath, best to get this over with quickly, “The path will lead us up to a corridor fairly close to the Throne room but seldom used in my time here. I doubt the Dragon Queen has made much use of it either, it fell into disuse and disrepair and is unoccupied as far as we know. The castle should be largely unoccupied by now if those sounds above us are anything to go by.”

“They’ve made it into the city,” Theon says, only a hint of a question at the end as they all listen for the sounds of war shaking the streets. 

Cersei nods, “I say we check the Throne Room first, it’s where I would be.”

Arya perks up at that, “But why? Won’t she have Sansa kept hidden somewhere, in her rooms?”

“Sansa is too valuable for that. Daenerys knows this,” to Cersei’s surprise it is Brienne who connects these dots first. 

Again, Cersei nods, “When we were under siege during the Battle of Blackwater Bay I took Tommen and fled to the Throne Room. The circumstances were different but it is the most defensible part of the castle with one main way in but with back passages that could be used for a quick escape. Daenerys will want that which is most valuable on hand. In this case, Sansa.”

Arya seems to accept this, Theon and Brienne nod at her as well so she glances to Jon.

“If she isn’t there?” Jon says. 

Ahh, Cersei thinks. There it is. Jon can put up a thousand walls but it comes down to this primal fear that he will lose her and it is something that he has only had the courage to voice at this final moment. 

“We better hope she is,” Cersei says simply, there is not much else they can hope for at this point. 

“Cersei,” Jon’s voice edges on anger. 

“If she isn’t there we will separate and search the castle Jon. We won’t leave without her,” Brienne comes to her rescue.

Jon seems to be placated but Cersei hears what Brienne doesn’t say as it is left to hang in the air. We won’t leave without her, one way or another. There is a chance that Sansa is already dead, that when they try to get to her Daenerys will kill her instantly anyways. So many variables. 

There is one more second, before they all begin to follow Cersei that she knows she will reflect on for years to come. 

The five of them are standing in a loose circle. A group of some of the most influential people in Sansa’s life. Theon Greyjoy, the boy who became a beacon at the darkest point of her life. Brienne of Tarth, her sworn shield and fierce friend, the woman who would lay down her own life time and time again for her Queen. Arya Stark, her sister and closest confidant, the one who people thought dead for years but had returned to Sansa despite it all. And Jon Snow. Cersei would always think of him this way, a Snow. But nevertheless, her husband. Her brother turned cousin, oh how sweet that must have been for her Cersei thinks, the realization that her feelings weren’t as baseborn as she had thought, and that her love was allowed. Jon was her true love and was perhaps the most important of all in ensuring they were here today. 

And Cersei had to pause to wonder how she found herself in such an esteemed group. She had been many things to Sansa. Deceitful mother-in-law to be who had been a lion in sheep’s clothing waiting to strike. A twisted pseudo-mother who tried to impart her wisdoms on the little dove. Then a tyrannical Queen-in-waiting who tormented her and allowed horrific things to happen to her, while she only watched. But now? Now she was an ally. The person who’s plan they followed in order to save their Queen. She may not share the bond that the other four do with her, but none could deny that their stories had been intertwined, had irrevocably overlapped and had become forever linked. So, as she stands in this circle she can’t help but question. How will their story, the story of two queens, one in descent and one in ascent, end?

The moment passes and Cersei and Jon’s eyes meet momentarily, they come to a silent understanding and Cersei presses forward, leading them up to the castle. 

It takes not another ten minutes before they all five are emerging into the castle proper. It is a quiet and deserted corridor but it suddenly feels as if they are in real danger. Would Daenerys really have the castle this empty? 

“This way,” Cersei whispers now, immediately fearful of being overheard. And she gestures at the rest of them to follow. 

And then she feels a presence very close to her. She turns her head and it is Brienne, right in step with her. They share a look.

“For Ser Jaime,” Brienne says in a voice even quieter than Cersei’s.

So Cersei and Brienne lead them through the castle. Cersei knows that the rest of them have their weapons drawn while she remains defenseless. But part of her feels very much at home. She knows these walls, has spent much of her life moving around them. And for a strange reason she isn’t fearful now. This castle was her own long before Daenerys Stormborn ever stepped foot inside of it. She will not tremble now. 

But they meet no one. The only sound is of their own footfalls. At one point she hears Arya mutter something to Jon but he doesn’t respond so he must have silenced her with a look that Cersei doesn’t see. Knowing the younger Stark sister it was probably something about how long this was all taking and whether they should really trust Cersei. 

Cersei stops their party. She glances over her shoulder.

“Just through here is the corridor with the entrance to the Throne Room, she may have guards waiting outside. Everyone alert,” Her voice is still hushed but she hears slight preparations behind her, the movement of weapons and stances being readied. 

Cersei reaches for the doorknob but before she can open it it swings out towards her. She inhales sharply and takes in the scene before her. 

~~~

Daenerys had allowed Sansa to be chained instead of continuing to hold her with a knife pressed to her throat. But she knew that it had only been done grudgingly. Sansa is sitting in the middle of the room, both Grey Worm and Jorah stand alert on either side, in case she tries to make a run for it. Sometimes she thinks Daenerys is so narrow minded. How would Sansa escape a room with the five of them watching her and make it out of the castle, through the city, and to safety, all unscathed? It was quite literally impossible.

But Daenerys had always liked overt displays of power. It was fine, since Sansa favours the subtle.

They’d had two soldiers report back in the last hour. The first had told them that they had sealed the city with as many soldiers inside as they could. And not ten minutes ago the same man had returned to tell them that they were making it through, they had broken down only a small section in the city wall and they were storming the city slowly.

Daenerys had been screaming, nearly uncontrollable while she had ordered them to secure and fortify the castle from the outside and to not let them make any more progress in getting their armies inside. The soldier had scurried from the room, and Sansa couldn’t blame him. She imagined that if Daenerys still had her dragons he would have likely been burned for bringing his Queen this news. 

Now though, Daenerys is sitting on her throne. Tyrion and Varys both talk to her in quiet tones, Sansa imagines that Daenerys won’t risk her overhearing their plans, even now at the end. Missandei stands alone, some ten feet away from Daenerys glancing out the windows at the back of the hall. She must see something of the battle, or perhaps not. She appears reflective. 

Just then Daenerys rises, “Missandei, with me. Jorah, take her. We go to the people.”

Jorah grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.

Daenerys stops a short distance from her, a cruel smile painting her features. She still looks just as terrifying as she did when she found Sansa in her chambers. Her hair burned and chopped, bleeding and dirt everywhere, torn clothes. Made of only fire in blood, in all its deranged glory. It had been so stupid, Sansa thinks, to ever let her know about the pregnancy. Not that it had been intentional, but even just standing there with her hands on her stomach. Well she should’ve known better. There was nothing for it now but she would still regret it, even if it didn’t cost her life it was something that Daenerys didn’t deserve to know. It had been a moment of weakness, she had been allowing herself one last second to think of her children before turning her mind to the situation at hand. She had accepted that Jon was lost to her now. She had put it aside, knowing that the full force of that realization would only hit her later. If she had a later that is. For the time being she must soldier on. 

“I will bring you out before the armies, knife to your throat and demand the end to this war. If they do not comply,” Daenerys’ smile grows, “I will carve the babe from your belly.”

And with that she withdraws the blade she held to Sansa’s neck earlier, it had drawn blood, only slightly but she could feel the shallow cut coated with dry and crusting blood still there now. It chilled her. So little that had stood between her and death. 

Sansa only inclines her head, “You can’t frighten me. Not anymore Daenerys. Even if you kill me you have lost. The time for games is at an end.”

Daenerys' nostrils flare and her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth but whatever she was going to say stays unvoiced. 

It happens quickly then, at Sansa’s words. Several things happen in quick succession. 

Varys moves, quicker than she thought would be possible for him, from his place at Daenerys’ side, headfirst into his Queen. On instinct, before Daenerys can even understand what is happening, she raises her blade. And strikes. Her blade finds its mark. 

At the same time Sansa feels Jorah’s grip on her arm slacken. He makes for his Queen and yells out.

“Khaleesi look—” Jorah’s words die on his lips, garbled by the blood that is spilling from them.

Sansa doesn’t have to check to know that Grey Worm’s blade has pierced him straight through from behind. And Sansa is moving as well. Her hands are still in chains but her feet are working just fine. She propels herself forwards.

And she crashes to the floor, bringing Tyrion with her. They wrestle for a few seconds but she pins him down. She throws her chain around his neck and tightens, not choking him outright but cutting off his air enough to guarantee submission.

Daenerys looks down at them, fury and confusion crossing her face to make one expression of pure outrage and she goes to take a step forward towards them, already bending down when a voice rings out. 

“Drop the knife.”

The voice is cool and collected. Quiet but commanding. And Sansa knows she hears a slight note of remorse there. Regret is to be expected though. And when she looks up she sees the blade glint and knows it is digging into Daenerys’ throat. She sees Missandei peeking out behind her as she clamps her arm around Daenerys throat, applying more pressure to the neck, right on her pulse point. And she expects, based on Daenerys mid section jutting out unnaturally, that there is another blade digging into her shoulder blades.

The knife clatters to the floor as Daenerys releases her grip. 

“Missandei,” Daenerys doesn’t dare turn her head to the woman behind her but the pain in her voice actually makes Sansa shiver. It is the note of someone who knows. 

Her voice is trembling, so different from the brimming confidence it has had since she fetched Sansa. It is the voice of a broken woman, one who knows that she has just lost her last hand in a long game of cards and that she is out of moves.

Everything slams back into focus for Sansa and she realizes she is still holding Tyrion, who is struggling to breathe. She loosens her grip slightly.

“Grey Worm, can you help me?” Sansa looks back to where the man still stands over Ser Jorah’s body. 

Grey Worm moves quickly and comes to Sansa’s side, he holds Tyrion in place while she removes her chain from his neck and continues to restrain him as she stands up.

Once he regains his breath he speaks, “Always a clever one, Lady Stark. It seems we were wrong to underestimate you. Turning three of four, it is not a small feat.”

Grey Worm silences him then by increasing his grip but Sansa just stares down at this man. This man who had the capacity for greatness but chose harm. He is weak for that and he will pay for it now more than ever. But then his words sink in. Three. 

She turns on her heel to see Varys motionless on the ground, he still has Daenerys’ knife sticking out from his chest. 

She closes the distance in a few steps and kneels beside him.

“No,” the exclamation escapes her lips, “No, no, no.”

Blood is pouring from the wound, slow but steady and her hands are quickly coated in it as she tries to stop it by applying pressure. Varys is breathing but barely.

He looks up at her then, “We have done it, she will fall.”

His voice is wheezing and he can’t keep his eyes open, “We’ll help you, Varys, you have my word.”

“No,” Varys rasps out between harsh breaths, “Save yourself now.”

Sansa looks down at him desperately.

“Promise me Sansa,” His breath is increasing now, “Promise me, you’ll look after Westeros now. You and Jon. A Stark mother, A Targaryen father.”

Varys closes his eyes then and Sansa removes her hands from his chest, realizing the futility and instead clasps his hands in her own. 

“I promise,” tears are spilling from her own eyes now.

Varys opens his eyes one last time.

“Thank you,” He squeezes her hand once, “My Queen.”

And his breathing peters out. Then stops altogether. 

Sansa lets a few more tears escape and takes a steadying breath. They owe so much to this man. The choices he made were never clear cut, they hedged on morality at every turn but his intentions had been pure. And now he is dead. Dead for her, at the hands of the woman he had sworn to serve. Fate was funny sometimes. 

She stands and looks back to the room.

“Don’t pretend to care for him now Sansa, he is nothing more than a piece in this scheme to you,” Daenerys’ voice comes out in a hiss but it still sounds strangely fragile. She didn’t care for Varys, not truly, but Daenerys will mourn now.

Sansa ignores her and turns to the other body in the room, takes a few steps towards him.

“Don’t touch him!” Daenerys’ voice is full of hurt but also pure anger. 

It is cut off and she sees Missandei readjust her hold, keeping her blade held steady. Sansa can’t blame Daenerys for this reaction though. If she lost Brienne like this she would feel much the same. Though the fact remained. It was her duty, indirectly she had sentenced these men to their fates, and her father would expect this respect from her. 

She kneels beside Jorah. He had fallen, face first, when Grey Worm’s blade went through him. He is a heavy man, but gently and with some effort she turns him over. His eyes are still open in shock at the attack. And so she closes them. 

She closes her own eyes and says a silent prayer as well. This man was a Northerner. He had made many missteps since then, but in death she hoped he would know peace. That he may fly dragons with his Queen until the end of his days. 

She rises again then.

Missandei and Grey Worm haven’t moved. They hold Daenerys and Tyrion respectively. She can hardly believe that the scene before her is real. She had discussed all of this with Varys at length that first night. He had insisted that these two would be the key and that he believed they would come, that they had lost faith in their Queen. But Sansa had seen that deep devotion in them and even after talking with Missandei she was hesitant to get her hopes up.

But Varys’ message had come, along with one of her meals and she had burned it promptly. It said the plan was in motion, that they would wait until the castle emptied during the battle. That Varys would cause a distraction when Sansa spoke the words ‘The time for games is at an end’. Her job was to hold Tyrion and the rest would be taken care of. It had been terribly risky but they had pulled it off anyways. They had Daenerys and Tyrion at their mercy, and Jorah was dead. Varys had fallen yet she couldn’t help but think now that that had been his plan all along, sacrificing himself for the rest of them.

When Sansa speaks, she isn’t expecting the words that come out, “Thank you.”

The words are spoken to Missandei and Grey Worm directly. She looks at each of them in turn and she sees no hesitation in their eyes, only resolve. 

Then, Missandei pushes Daenerys to the ground, releasing her. 

It clearly surprises her because for a moment Sansa can tell she almost considers fleeing but she looks at Missandei and Sansa and seems to think better of it. 

“You have lost me,” Missandei’s voice sounds weary, “Khaleesi.”

“Missandei, please. We can come out of this alive. Sansa lies, I will protect you,” There are tears welling in Daenerys’ eyes and she is grovelling before the woman she felt closest to for years. Sansa is shocked at how low Daenerys has fallen in such a short amount of time. There is desperation in her every word. 

Missandei’s eyes brim with tears now too, “You could’ve been our Queen. That is what I wanted Daenerys. But you have nobody to blame but yourself for this.”

There seems to be nothing else to say because Missandei withdraws and goes to gather Daenerys’ dropped blade across the room. And Daenerys has no more to say to her once friend. 

She kneels there a moment with her head hanging. And then she reels, turns towards Sansa. Who takes an automatic step backwards despite the fact that she has nothing to fear from the woman they can easily overpower. 

“Ha,” Daenerys' voice cracks, “Even now you fear me.”

“No,” Sansa says slowly and really looks at her, “I do not fear you and I never have. I have feared what you are capable of, the devastation you could cause. But never you. You are someone who has ruled through fear but you yourself do not inspire fear. You inspire loyalty.”

Daenerys' jaw drops and Sansa sees Tyrion perk up at her words, still in Grey Worm’s hold. 

“That’s why this is such a blow,” Sansa lets her voice drip with victory, revelling for once, “Those most loyal to you have turned. You have nobody. Your armies are loyal to Grey Worm. And without your dragons the Golden Company and Tyrells will not follow you. You have only Tyrion, who is as helpless as you are. You have always depended on this unwavering loyalty, but that which is bought through intimidation is unstable.”

Daenerys trembles with rage. And when she looks up her eyes are bloodshot. She speaks through her teeth, still on her knees. 

“You know nothing of me. Sansa Stark. I am the blood of the dragon, I am the heir to the Iron Throne, I–I’m–” Daenerys’ voice falters, she is just sputtering. And then to Sansa’s surprise she falls over. She has passed out. 

It doesn’t surprise her, given the day she has had. But my god, it is a sight to see a woman who is known for riding dragons and conquering cities collapse at your feet, the fight snuffed out. 

“Missandei, can you help me please,” Sansa calls to the woman who has withdrawn again, a habit from years of having to go unnoticed. 

Missandei comes to her and together they retrieve the key to Sansa’s chains, remove them from her and chain Daenerys instead. All while she remains unconscious. 

One last thing that must be dealt with before they go now. 

She turns to Tyrion. 

“Release your hold Grey Worm, I’m sure he has something he wants to say,” Sansa is already done with whatever conversation she is about to entertain. 

Grey Worm complies but keeps him restrained. 

“Lady Stark, please. It doesn’t have to be like this,” Tyrion is pleading but he is much more put together than Daenerys. She knows he will try and work some angle. 

“You can show mercy. You can let us flee now, to Essos. We won’t return. Nobody will ever know,” Tyrion tries his best.

“As your sister never returned?” Sansa eyes him and she sees a sweat break out on his forehead. 

“Daenerys has become unstable, I admit this. But don’t start your reign by disposing of the monarch before you, the blood we spill, it follows us,” Tyrion proposes a different angle. 

Sansa closes her eyes, breathes in, then opens them and stares him down. 

“Our reign will be founded on ending the rule of a dictator who if left in power would’ve driven Westeros into the ground. If we have to bloody our hands to do it then so be it. But I am confident that our reign won’t be tarnished by continued bloodshed because we care for our people, for this country, and for the sanctity of human life Tyrion,” Sansa says.

Tyrion is cowering and doesn’t contradict her. 

“Daenerys has cast a shadow over Westeros for too long, with her dragons gone so should she be. And you. You have cast a shadow over me, Tyrion. You wished to be a saviour to me but you guilted me for not desiring a marriage to man when I was but a child. You brought Daenerys’ wrath to Westeros and you stood by her even when it was clear she had failed. You have no defense. The people will see that,” Sansa finishes triumphantly. 

Tyrion only looks at her sorrowfully. She knows that he realizes he has lost.

Sansa collects herself.

“We must go and quickly. We will bring them with us and bring an end to the fighting. Let us hurry,” Sansa says and both her and Missandei make their way to Daenerys who is starting to stir. 

Sansa makes to grab Daenerys and stand her up but Missandei stops her with a hand to her arm. 

“Let me,” Missandei’s voice is soft, “This is my burden to carry.”

Sansa eyes her for a moment, hesitant. But then nods. She understands Missandei fully in this moment. 

Daenerys is conscious but still a bit delirious. They stand her up and Missandei presses the knife back to her throat which seems to wake her up.

Grey Worm is in position as well with Tyrion ready to go. She then gives gags to both Missandei and Grey Worm, letting them fasten them onto their prisoners.

She nods to both of them.

“Onward,” Sansa says and leads them from the throne room.

~~~

Sansa blinks. They had walked into the outer hallway and turned to go towards the front stairs of the castle. She had thought she had heard some voices on the other side of the door and she was worried there might have been a fight. She had opened the door slowly. But now, with the door hanging open all she can do is take in the sight before her. 

She is face to face with Cersei Lannister. In every way she appears as if she is ready to take the throne. Her dress is regal, her hair sleek. She is a bit dirty and some of her strands are falling out of the hairstyle on top of her head but despite these minor imperfections she appears as if she could ascend right there.

“Cersei,” She breathes. 

She hears Daenerys struggling behind her. Apparently the presence of Cersei is too much for her. But she can’t dwell on it for long, she only has time to hope that Missandei is able to keep her held in place before she hears a clatter of a sword and then she is being lifted into the air. Her whole body goes rigid for one second but she recognizes the embrace, and with it her body reacts on instinct, melting into his arms and looking down at his face.

Jon’s arms are tight around her but he sets her feet back onto solid ground. She sets her hands on either side of his face and against her will she feels tears well up from behind her eyes. He looks exhausted, bruises and blood in different places and his hair matted with sweat. But he is standing, he is solid and uninjured for the moment. Somehow, somehow he survived the fall. It seems too good to be true. 

“You’re alive,” Her voice is breathy and full of tears, “You’re here.”

Jon pulls her in closer, pressing his face into her hair and inhaling deeply.

When he pulls away he looks back into her own eyes, “I could never leave you, Sansa. You are my heart, my life.”

She stares into his eyes for a few more seconds, sees tears welling up there as well when another person joins their embrace. 

“I thought I gave you enough time,” Arya says and wraps her arms around both of them. 

“Arya!” Sansa loosens her grip on Jon and turns her body to her sister, looking down at her once more in disbelief, “What are you all doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” says another voice, “Not that you need it of course, you have everything under control here. Should’ve known really.”

Sansa glances up and sees Theon. Then Brienne, hanging back but with huge smiles on both their faces. Sansa knows fresh tears are streaming down her face but she manages to stick out her tongue at Theon, he can never resist taking a jab. The relief floods her whole body, all of them here, these people who hold her heart. 

“Your Grace,” Brienne nods her head, “You’re okay?”

Brienne’s eyes pause on the cut on her neck but seems to understand that Sansa has suffered worse, and that she has endured this time. Sansa nods. 

She turns back to Arya and Jon. Her arms are wrapped around her sister but Jon still holds her close from behind.

“Bran? Arianne?” Sansa asks quickly, needing to know their losses, desperation lacing her voice. 

“Both safe when we left them, Arianne is overseeing the battles and Bran is hiding in a cave using his visions to oversee us. He feels bloody awful about letting you get taken—” Sansa cuts Arya off.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Sansa says sternly. 

Arya rolls her eyes, “Of course not.”

“Anyone else? Is everyone safe, Edmure, Yara, the rest?” Sansa knows they can’t be this lucky.

A hush falls over the rest of them. She sees Jon and Arya exchange a glance.

“Who?” Sansa’s voice comes out scared, who has died because of her?

“We lost Yohn Royce,” Jon’s voice is gentle, “Robin Arryn is doing the Vale proud in his death, becoming the man he was meant to be.”

Sansa closes her eyes for one moment. Lets the loss register, she will grieve later. Now they have things to do. She opens her eyes and nods.

“How did you all get here?” She knows they should go but she needs to know.

Jon and Arya exchange another look this time more amused than grief stricken, “That would be Cersei, my love.”

Sansa glances around, she had nearly forgotten about Cersei in her elation. The woman had remained quiet and slunk back into the shadow. Giving Sansa her moment of relief and celebration. Cersei steps forward with her head held high. 

“I couldn’t have a Targaryen kill our Queen now could I? Not when I spent half my life in King’s Landing preventing such attacks on my own life,” Cersei says with a half smile. 

She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The last time Sansa saw her she had saved Cersei’s life and now she had led the plan to save Sansa’s. She never could’ve anticipated this the last time they had both been in King’s Landing. For one moment she is overcome by the desire to embrace Cersei. But she holds back

She just holds her in her gaze instead and speaks true, “Thank you. Thank you Cersei.”

There will be time for more later, for the moment Cersei gives the briefest nod and takes a step back again. 

“And you’ve been busy here,” Arya says, she is now examining their captives. Circling Daenerys and Tyrion. She finishes her examination and comes to stand back beside Sansa. 

Sansa turns back to the hostages and she feels Jon turn with her, keeping a hand on her back. 

Daenerys is struggling but Missandei’s grip is relentless. Tyrion on the other hand doesn’t fight and Grey Worm remains impassive, occasionally glancing at Missandei who looks back at him, assuring him that she has Daenerys handled. 

“We can trust them?” Jon asks her, quietly, but not so quiet that Missandei and Grey Worm don’t hear. 

Sansa has the briefest eye contact with both of them and turns her head back to Jon.

“They saved my life.”

She holds Jon’s gaze and he nods, trusting her immediately. 

Cersei steps forward then and goes to stand before her brother. 

“Hello, little brother,” Tyrion remains quiet and doesn’t even struggle against his gag, “We meet again, but this time I will not aid you in escaping. An error in judgement on your part, I suppose.”

They remain frozen for a moment, Cersei triumphant and Tyrion defeated before Cersei turns and falls back into shadows. But just before she does she calls back. 

“Where is Lord Varys? Ser Jorah? Were they not with her?”

Sansa grimaces at that. 

“Dead, both of them,” it is Missandei who speaks, “Varys aided us in their capture and Jorah died protecting his Queen. Loyal to the end.”

Her words aren’t bitter, she doesn’t really regret her own choices. She is merely stating a fact. And Sansa gives her the smallest nod, a silent thank you.

“We should go,” Cersei says, still in the darkness, “End the fighting now. I wish to see Jaime.”

The group all murmurs their agreement and make to go, following Cersei through the palace. By something unspoken Jon and Sansa decide to take up the rear position. And just as the group is getting away from them Sansa reaches for Jon.

She grabs his arm, “Wait.”

He turns to her, concern in every feature. But they don’t have time.

She takes his face and kisses him hard. It lasts maybe five seconds but she pours so much into the kiss she doesn’t know if she has any left to give. 

“You too. My heart, my life. I thought you were dead, but I should’ve known Jon. You vowed to protect me,” She is still clinging to him and she can’t help the smile that spills over her face. He returns the smile and kisses her once more, softly. 

“Let’s go,” Jon grabs her hand and pulls her forward, “Our people need us.”

~~~

They step out into the city and the fighting has reached them, the warriors press right up to the bottom of the steps. 

Everyone freezes for a moment. And then, not surprising Sansa at all, it is Jon who rises to the occasion. 

“Stop!” Jon bellows, “Stop in the name of you King and Queen! The battle is over, lay down your arms!”

It takes a few moments, but slowly the people fighting realize. Slowly the fighting stops and Sansa can hear it spread, those much too far to hear are quieting as the news travels through the crowd.

Daenerys’ armies don’t even attempt to continue fighting. They have seen the Dragons fall and with her on her knees, at the mercy of her enemies. Well, there's no loyalty there, not for those who have been bought. And those that have been loyal for years, they see their battle commander Grey Worm holding their Queen’s Hand, Tyrion, hostage and fill in the blanks. 

Jon looks to Sansa and gives her a nod. 

She steps forward, “Bring your wounded to the castle, we will start treating them as soon as possible. Anyone from Daenerys’ side who resists, detain them. You will be pardoned if you surrender now, but continue to fight and we will be forced to put you on trial.”

It is short and to the point. Sansa is weary of war, she wants to treat their wounded, bury their dead and move on. She takes Jon’s hand, a quiet reassurance there and draws strength from him. They stare out of the city, out over their Kingdom. Into the faces of the people they hope to rule, into the faces who will depend on them now, to rebuild, to protect and to aid them in prospering once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it really is the end now. One chapter left and then the epilogue. My only fear with this chapter is that it is too anti climactic? But I really liked the way things shook out and I hope you do too, I never wanted Sansa to have to be saved, she needed to be in control by the time they got to her and personally as soon as I had the image of Missandei holding a knife to Daenerys' throat I couldn't NOT write it haha.
> 
> Also, I know that once they had Dany and Tyrion that they should've just rushed to stop the fighting lol but so much needed to be said I delayed for the sake of the story, let's pretend it didn't cost that many lives please!
> 
> As I said last chapter, I will be posting Drabbles for Jonsa Drabblefest in a few days so look forward to that! And I have also started writing another Jonsa AU... I won't say too much but it is a Season 7 AU this time that I intend to have 2 or 3 quite large parts so be on the lookout for that a few weeks from now, I am very excited about it!
> 
> As always, any comments are appreciated and I look forward to talking to you :)


	18. i fretted fire, but that was long ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh here it is, last one before the epilogue! I hope it is everything you dreamed :) and fair warning, I have no idea how trials work so bear with me, I know the faith is supposed to do something but I fully just winged it haha.

Time is speeding up and slowing down. The last several days have happened in a blink but they also seem never ending. 

Sansa is frazzled and that might be the understatement of the century. Currently, she is sitting at her desk, writing a letter to the lords of Highgarden and what the Crown’s expectations will be going forward. They had allowed them to go home and kept any of the direly injured here for the time being but there were agreements to be made and pledges to be honoured. The wording of the letter was giving her a headache. 

“When was the last time you slept?” Arya’s voice doesn’t even surprise her at this point, her sister is too quiet for her own good and Sansa is so tired she is bordering on loopy. 

She lets out a big stretch followed by a yawn and turns around in her seat. 

“I think it’s been thirty six hours? Maybe forty?” Sansa says and suddenly feels the weight of that truth. Her body is going to give out soon. 

Arya doesn’t sit and looks at her skeptically instead. 

“Take a nap,” Arya nearly demands.

Sansa rolls her eyes, “I can’t Arya. I have things to do.”

Arya says more firmly, “You’re the Queen, I believe you can do whatever you like.”

Sansa just fixes her with a look, “That’s the mentality that got Daenerys taken off the throne.”

“You can’t compare taking a nap to burning people alive,” Arya says, deadpan. 

And then they both burst into fits of laughter. Maybe it’s improper to laugh at other’s deaths but Sansa needs the release and it feels good after days and days of work. 

“Fine, I’ll rest. But go hunt down Jon and send him up here as well because I know it’s been just as long since he slept. The trial will be happening in a few days, we both need to get rest in while we can,” Sansa says and makes her way over to her bed, suddenly very interested in how soft it looks. 

Arya makes to leave but then Sansa calls out. 

“Wait, come talk to me for a moment,” Sansa says. 

She’s tired, but she’s hardly had a conversation with anyone since the fighting stopped. 

Arya backpedals and comes to join Sansa on her bed. 

“I notice Gendry hasn’t been around,” Sansa says nonchalantly.

She doesn’t miss the blush that crosses Arya’s face and it gives Sansa her own joy to see her sister so obviously happy. Jon had told her that he was pretty sure that they had worked things out but if she wanted more than that she would have to ask Arya directly. 

“He was injured during the battle and I had him brought to Riverrun while we rescued you so he could recover, I’ve sent for him though and he should arrive in a few days,” Arya says this while trying to hold back a brimming smile.

“I’m glad,” Sansa gives her a huge one instead, “And you’re on the same page with everything?”

Arya sighs, contentedly, “I think so. He knows I’m going to be the Lady of Winterfell and that I want him by my side for that, so we will see. I’m ready to be happy. And with Bran around we’ll still be able to journey from time to time, see the world.”

Sansa nods, “The three of you will do the North proud.”

Arya looks at her and she knows that the pain in her eyes must be evident. She longs for the North already, she knows it will be a while until they have a chance to return. Arya grips her hand. 

“The North will always be waiting for you, it resides in both your hearts. Ruling in the South doesn’t change that,” Arya speaks the words as a comfort but Sansa knows the reality will take adjusting to. 

When Sansa doesn’t respond Arya continues. 

“Can I ask you something now?”

Sansa looks at her curiously, “Of course.”

“When you were captive… do you need to talk about that?”

Arya’s face shows genuine concern and Sansa understands why. She had a chance to explain to Jon, Bran and Arya how they had pulled off what they had with Missandei, Grey Worm, and Varys but she hadn’t talked to any of them about her time as a captive and what it entailed. Not even Jon, they’d been too busy. And from the look on Arya’s face, she at least was envisioning the worst. Sansa almost has to laugh. 

“As far as my imprisonments have gone it was very tame,” Sansa replies finally, “But I appreciate the concern, Daenerys was not unnecessarily cruel though she did keep me in my old chambers so that was a bit unnerving. But don’t fret Arya, truly, I am perfectly fine. I’m just happy we have all come out of this alive.”

Arya doesn’t look completely convinced but gives a slight nod, “If you ever need to talk about it further…”

“Then I know your ear is ready and waiting, don’t worry,” Sansa says and she ruffles her sister’s hair, sending Arya leaping off the bed away from her sister’s torment and sending Sansa into another fit of laughs. 

“Okay, go and send Jon to me, I want to sleep now,” Sansa says and starts to tuck into bed.

Arya goes to the door and pulls it wide, “Love you, Sansa.”

“Love you too, Arya. Thank you for taking care of me,” Sansa says as she nuzzles into her pillow. 

She hears Arya shut the door, but by the time Jon nestles in beside her she has already fallen into a deep slumber.

~~~

Cersei knows that she shouldn’t be down here. She had bribed a guard to let her by and she knew that being a feared once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms still had its benefits because he had succumbed easily. Still. She knew that at the end of this hall was the room they were keeping Tyrion in. She had inquired about it to Sansa and she had given her a gaze that told Cersei she knew what she was planning and she wouldn’t stop her but that she had also better be discreet about it. 

She hadn’t told Jaime either. She knew she would one day, maybe in a week. Maybe years from now. But she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. What she did know is that if Tyrion is going to die tomorrow that she needed to talk to him today. 

She didn’t know how Jaime was able to put aside all the feelings because when the subject of their brother had come up he had been steadfast in his opinion. 

It was right when the fighting ended. Jon and Sansa had called for everyone to lay down their arms and then Cersei was running. Running down the steps and into the parting crowd. Before she hit them she heard a few people calling her name, Sansa for sure, perhaps Brienne. She couldn’t be certain. But she had hardly cared. They had done what they had set out to do, Sansa was safe. Westeros would have the Queen that it desired. Even if she hadn’t really required their aid. Her little dove had changed so much, helpless no more and a wolf who knew how to bare her teeth. Cersei thought she had trained her well. 

Cersei kept pushing through the crowd. She was frantic to find Jaime, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider an alternative to him living because she knew it would distract her from her own responsibilities in their plan. But now that was over all her fears were flooding in. Her own voice was raising and getting more fearful with every repetition of ‘Jaime’.

All around her people made way, seemingly recognizing that this was a mad woman before them who would do whatever it took to find what she sought. There were bloodied men and fallen dead everywhere but they never registered. 

And then she stopped moving. Her own panting had paralyzed her in the spot and she felt hot tears stinging her eyes as her voice continued to come out in breathy rasps. She just spun in a circle looking everywhere.

And then she heard him. Heard him calling her name.

“Cersei! Cersei where are you?”

Cersei perked up, her ears could have deceived her, “Here, I’m here.”

She hadn’t thought she spoke above a whisper but he found her anyways. He always had. 

And then Jaime was dismounting and swallowing Cersei up in his arms. Pulling them together. She wept openly.

“It’s over, it’s done. We’re safe, shh. It’s okay now,” Jaime said as he ran his hands up and down her arms and Cersei continued to weep quietly.

“I thought,” Her words come out in gasps, “I thought you were…” 

“I know, I know. It’s okay, we’re safe,” Jaime said.

He must have held her for quite some time because when they broke apart much of the remaining armies had cleared out.

Jaime peered down at her, “I assume Sansa lives from what I heard passing through the crowd?”

Cersei only managed a nod and then continues, “Tyrion…lives.”

A hard look passed over Jaime’s face then and Cersei couldn’t quite read it. 

“He will answer for his crimes, I’m sure,” Jaime said with resolve.

Cersei had reached for his face, this wasn’t like him, “Jaime—”

“I loved him. I love him and I always will. He saved our lives. But he can’t save himself this time Cersei. He is beyond us,” Jaime said.

They stared at each other for several more moments and she knew that Jaime was right but she found it unfathomable how easy it was for him to put this all behind him.

“What matters now is Joanna and Ciseron, making it back to them. Returning to the Rock, together,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead with his words.

And ah, Cersei understood. This was how he planned to move forward, by looking to their future. It was smart. But Cersei knew she needed more closure. 

And that is why she is at Tyrion’s cell door now. She slides the key that the guard gave her into the hole. He is still at the end of the hall if she requires him and there is no chance of escape. But then again, that’s hardly what she came here for. The key catches and she pauses, taking in a deep breath.

Sansa had told Cersei that they were keeping Tyrion and Daenerys in separate cells. She hadn’t given a reason, but Cersei imagines it is to stop them from any potential plots before they can be brought to trial. 

Cersei opens the door and sees Tyrion. He has chains around his hands and one on his foot chaining him to the wall. He lays on a small cot and otherwise looks unscathed. He is wearing plain clothes but they are clean and he is reasonably well groomed. A finished plate of food sits on the floor. 

Tyrion looks up and Cersei shuts the door behind her. It is just them now. 

Cersei makes her way to the cot on the opposite wall and takes a seat, fanning out her skirts first and keeping her spine straight. Part of her is still unsure what she hopes to gain here. Yet she knows she needs it.

Tyrion continues to consider her, his eyes following her across the room and then he sits up as well. Turns to face her. 

“I thought you might come,” He says and his voice is hoarse. She sees a pitcher of water but she thinks the rasp comes from disuse, it has been just over a week and she doubts he has had any other conversation partners, “But I didn’t think your new Queen would allow it.”

“You don’t know the person she is now,” Cersei says, pauses, and then she amends, “She didn’t disallow it anyways.”

Tyrion chuckles, “Slippery Cersei, you cannot ever quite give up your old tricks now can you?”

Cersei doesn’t answer him. Part of her doesn’t want to have this conversation end in shouts. It won’t do anything for either of them. On the other hand she has decades of built up anger for the man before her.

“You told me once you regretted my children’s deaths more than anything, is that still true?” It’s not the question she intended to ask.

Tyrion seems reflective, “I think I have much bigger things to regret now.”

Cersei doesn’t answer him and he sighs, “But yes, if there had been anything I could have done to prevent those deaths, I would have. Even Joffrey’s.”

Cersei nods. She thinks it’s what she needed to hear and she presses her hands into the mattress making to stand and leave. But Tyrion cuts across her.

“So it’s just that easy? All is forgiven for you and you go back to Casterly Rock and live happily ever after? Just like that?” Tyrion’s voice is incredulous with an undercurrent of bitter resentment.

Cersei shakes her head, he still doesn’t understand. 

“The small people remember me as the Queen who prevented their city being burnt alive, they have no war with me. The great Houses disagree but I have helped rid them of a tyrant Queen, I am owed for that. The Lannisters desire the prosperity you denied them, they will overlook my… less appealing qualities in exchange,” Cersei says. 

Tyrion scoffs, “You mean yours and Jaime’s incest.”

Cersei’s lips twist but she stays silent. 

“Father was so eager to see you and Jaime achieve greatness that he remained willfully blind for years instead of placing his faith in me,” Tyrion says and his words are like venom, stinging her right through.

Cersei stands up, anger flaring, “Father never saw me as anything more than a girl to marry off to the highest bidder and you know that. He only ever saw greatness in Jaime, and maybe that was deserved because he has always been the best of our rotten lot. The three of us.”

Cersei is breathing heavy and she sits back down, angry at herself for losing composure. She smooths her skirts down. 

“Father hated me for being born Cersei,” Tyrion says and looks at her with disgust as if she knows nothing of his pain. 

“Do you want to know the difference between you and me Tyrion?” Cersei asks, and she genuinely means it but when he doesn’t answer her she goes on anyways, “We endured pain and cruelty at the hands of other men, our father. Robert for me. And we let that pain warp and twist us into cruel beings. But the difference. The difference is that after all was done, I changed Tyrion. I know that I have done unforgivable things in the past, things I will never repent for but I am better for it now. You? You haven’t changed at all, you sit in this cell and still see yourself as the victim, the man who was in the right. You blame any wrongdoing on Daenerys alone. Take some accountability. For once.”

With that, Cersei does stand and she looks down at Tyrion still sitting on the bed. He looks stricken.

“I saved your life,” Tyrion’s voice is small.

It gives Cersei pause. She turns to him.

“Yes. You did. Why is that?”

Tyrion doesn’t answer her. She thinks maybe he can’t.

“For Jaime? Right?” Cersei’s voice is scathing, it is what she has always assumed and she can’t blame him for it.

Tyrion blinks at her several times.

Cersei strides to the door. She is done with all this, it was a mistake. She opens the door but turns to say one last thing. 

“This is goodbye Tyrion, there will be no rescue coming for you,” Cersei says and leaves Tyrion alone in his cell to consider his sins. 

~~~

Daenerys’ mouth is dry. The pitcher of water they brought yesterday sits untouched as does the food. She has eaten nothing since they brought her here and drank the bare minimum when she felt herself truly fading. Other than that she has remained immobilized on her cot. She doesn’t feel anything. They bring her food and water at regular hours. They tried to come clean her but she had fought viciously, scratching and clawing at those who drew near. When they gave up on that they left her a pile of new clothes, a bar of soap and a message that said to ask for bathing water if she wished. She hadn’t touched any of it either. 

She knew that when she had slept the first time they had come in and cleaned her wounds and put a salve on them to stave off infection because they were healing, but the rest of her remained dirty and she hadn’t slept deeply since that first night. She catches an hour when she isn’t paying attention but the emptiness within her doesn’t allow her much more than that. 

Her whole time spent in this cell, she has just gone over and over every moment that led her to this. Marrying Drogo. Killing Viserys. Losing her baby, losing Drogo. The witch. Freeing the cities, the rebellions. The Dosh Khaleen. Her dragons and the Sons of the Harpy. Coming back to Westeros. Fighting the dead. Taking the throne. Losing the throne. And then a barrage of people. Jorah. Daario. Drogo. Viserys. Ser Barristan. Tyrion. Missandei. Grey Worm. Varys. Jon Snow. Sansa Stark. Jon and Sansa. It ended with them. But had it begun with them too? Was she always destined for this fate? To rot in a cell and await their justice? When she was but a girl had their own paths set them for this, for them to take the throne? Was it written in the stars? They were unworthy. She was a dragon. But now she was alone in the world, and that was a dangerous thing. 

These thoughts tumble in her mind day in and day out. Time loses all sense of meaning and soon she is just repeating a list of names. Names of those who remained true, names of those who betrayed her, who loved her, who died at her hand. So many people. So many people played a part in her story but none of it matters now. All that matters now is that she got all she wanted, she reached her goal, her life’s dream of the Iron Throne, to hold it for a few short years and then what? To die? Here in her home, in Westeros, her birthright? It seemed funny to her that if she had remained in Essos she may have lived. Or perhaps not she thinks. She had left it in shambles, she could admit that now. She had abandoned those she called her people in her quest for greatness. 

She knows the trial is today, she had been told everytime food came for the last two days. They had tried to encourage her to dress and clean herself but she would not. Let the people see what monster they have created. Let fucking Sansa Stark and Jon Snow bear witness to their so called noble pursuit. (She tells herself that she is just a girl, nothing to fear, and that they are butchers for what they will do to her, but in truth she knows. She knows they have much to fear, that she is a war criminal and will be tried under the laws of Westeros. But still, she dreams. Sometimes of a red door).

Attendants come to ready her but she kicks out again and refuses to let them touch her. She will not be made presentable. She will not play nice and make this easy for those who have disposed of her. Let them suffer. Let them burn.

“The King and Queen said to not fight her, to let her come as she is if it is what she desires,” Daenerys hears them talking from outside her cell where they fled for the guard when she lashed out. 

“We shouldn’t let her go out like that, it’s a disgrace,” The second one says and Daenerys smiles. Yes, yes it is. 

The other one is silent for a long time and then she says, “Then let her be a disgrace. The King and Queen were clear.”

The girls return to the room and Daenerys allows them to give her a shawl. Her dress is still torn and she is chilled. She puts on boots as well to protect her feet, not that she will need them for much longer she assumes. But nothing else. She is still just as mangled as the day she pulled herself from the lake. The day the last of the dragons fell. It still pains her, this loss. As does the loss of Ser Jorah. When she thinks of him she goes numb. Everything in the throne room happened so fast but the image of him spitting up blood on the end of Grey Worm’s sword has burned itself in her brain. It was unbelievable. He had always been so solid. And yet. 

They make the way through the castle, through her castle. To the throne room where the trial will take place. She barely even registers anything around her. She knows they pass by a few people and they stare and mutter but she is so past caring what others think of her. She knows this is nothing but a death walk.

They arrive in the room and it is already full. On instinct she raises her head high and immediately regrets it because every eye in the room is on her. But she doesn’t cringe away. The guards get her all the way to her seat before she looks down and it is a small triumph but it brings her a bit of comfort. In her time looking around she saw many people. All of the high Lords and Ladies of Westeros. Heads of Houses from all those who joined against her in the war. Spread out and apparently awaiting her blood. 

She notices that at the front Jon and Sansa sit. Pristine. A new throne is already placed for them, one that seats both of them. She wonders where the Iron Throne has gone. But she finds it hardly matters given the circumstances. She sees that Bran and Arya are at the front too as well as several of the other advisors. To her surprise, Cersei and Jaime too. Off to the side yes, but still holding an important place in regards to the throne. If only her head hunters had found them in Essos. If only.

And to Daenerys’ right, across the room is Tyrion, he is looking at her with his jaw open. She sees he looks clean and presentable. Well, she couldn’t be bothered. She gives him a dead eyed stare and returns her head to her lap. She has no remorse there, she’d lost faith in Tyrion long ago, the fact that he was the only one who remained to her was of little consolation. 

The trial seems to take hours. They start with small things. Jon and Sansa speak frequently. They pardon Missandei and Grey Worm first, giving them permission to stay here or travel freely. Assuring them they will always have a place at their table should they choose to return. It makes Daenerys’ stomach turn and she doesn’t look up at them once to see them accept this pardon. They have even taken her friends.

They then move onto the unsullied and few remaining Dothraki. They are to leave Westeros, but they have no war with them. They have even arranged for safe passage back to Essos. They will not suffer for the crimes of their Queen, not when they have already lost many of their own numbers, Sansa adds. 

The talk turns to the Tyrells. The only family that stood at Daenerys’ side and her head actually does pop up when she hears that they will go unpunished. That they have sworn fealty and will be welcomed back into the fold. She can’t hide her surprise. Does the Stark’s mercy no know bounds? 

“We know that the Tyrell’s faced great pressure and fear under the threat of dragon fire. And in truth we didn’t seek them out for assistance, we cannot punish them for their choices in this war,” this is how Jon justifies their choice but Daenerys sees it for what it is, weakness. The Tyrell’s chose the other side, Daenerys would not have shown them mercy.

After all of this, some of the crowd has thinned but most of the room is still filled. Sansa stands and descends from the dais towards their two prisoners. The real reason for this trial. Daenerys’ mouth is dry.

“It is time to hear the crimes of the accused,” Sansa says. 

“Tyrion of House Lannister, son of Tywin. Former Lord of Casterly Rock and hand to Queen Daenerys,” Sansa gestures to Tyrion. 

And then she walks closer to Daenerys, who finally looks up and meets her eyes, “Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.”

Daenerys’ eyes widen at Sansa’s use of her full titles. But she should know better now, Sansa follows the rules to the letter. Her eyes betray no sign of emotion. There is no hatred or even a sense of righteous victory. She had her blade to this woman’s neck a week ago and now here they stand in the same room. About to hear her own death sentence. 

“Let us hear the charges,” Sansa says and walks back to the throne. 

The charges seem to go on forever as well. A member of the church lists them. Daenerys cares little to hear them, she knows what they will be. That she took her throne unrightfully despite having the blood, the family name. (They let Jon preside over them, blasphemy she thinks). That she was tyrannical and cruel, merciless. These people don’t understand, they don’t understand the sacrifices rulers have to make. Sansa will see, one day she will see. Daenerys finds peace in that. 

And then they bring forth witnesses. Both Missandei and Grey Worm speak against them. Citing things as far back as Essos. Many Lords speak as well, even one from Highgarden she had corresponded with not a week ago. The Lannister twins speak against Tyrion. Arianne Martell on Daenerys’ unequal treatment of the Kingdoms. The list goes on. Jon and Sansa both speak separately. Jon of his time as a ‘prisoner’ on Dragonstone as he calls it now, and Sansa of her most recent capture. 

It takes some time more than an hour by the time they have finished and are asking what defense the accused have Daenerys has almost fallen asleep. It matters little to her now. 

“Lord Tyrion, you may speak first,” Sansa says from the throne and Daenerys actually listens now, interested to see how this goes. 

“Lords and Ladies of Westeros, Your Graces,” Tyrion stands and bows and all Daenerys can think is that he is performing even when he must know that it will do no good here. The wolves have them in their den, “I cannot deny these charges before me but I ask everyone here to think about perspective. The perspective that has been put forth is one of Daenerys as a usurper who stole the Iron Throne. Yet Cersei gave it up willingly and Daenerys reclaimed it for her family, the family that ruled Westeros for centuries. I have only aided Westeros’ rightful Queen in resuming her spot on the throne that her family built.”

There are murmurs but for the most part people are unimpressed and Daenerys can tell he looks uneasy, he retakes his seat rather than digging himself further down. Daenerys expected more, better. She doesn’t know how much more disappointment from Tyrion she can suffer.

Sansa turns her gaze to Daenerys, “Queen Daenerys. Your turn.”

Daenerys truly considers remaining seated, she knows whatever she says will do her little good. But then she rises. She looks a mess, she can barely stand without any nourishment and she sways side to side. Blood and dirt cake her body and her hair is matted. There are hollows under her eyes but her voice finds a steadiness.

“I wish I had burned every one of you years ago when I took King’s Landing. It is nothing less than everyone of you deserve. I am of Targaryen blood, the last of my kind. A dragon. You can kill me here today but the blood of the dragon will come again. I hope you know no easy night for the rest of your days,” Daenerys’ voice comes out in all heavy rage but she knows she is on the verge of tears, “Your Graces.”

Her last words are mocking and she actually curtsies before taking her seat. She allows a look of smugness to settle over her features. 

She watches Jon and Sansa exchange a look as the hall falls silent. It lasts only a moment before there is chaos. Everywhere people call for their heads, to bleed them out on the streets. It is madness. 

Then Jon and Sansa stand together and walk forward, remaining on the raised dais. 

Sansa raises her hand to speak and a hush falls, “I think we have heard all we need to today at this trial.”

Jon continues, “As your King and Queen we understand your wish for revenge for the blood of the woman who has wrought our country into peril.”

“But we do not want to start our reign as your monarchs on something so inhumane,” Sansa finishes. 

There is another uproar as people’s outrage boils over. Good, Daenerys thinks, it’s the best she can hope for. The wrath of the people, something she knows well. The Starks will not survive this. 

Jon raises his hand this time and speaks with finality, “These two will die. Their crimes are innumerable. But as we have given mercy to all those aligned with them, we will let them die with respect. With their deaths a new era of peace will begin.”

Sansa speaks then, “Their execution will be private, not a bloodbath. And not a spectacle for the people. We will not be that kind of ruler. You will have justice but it will not be baseless and bloody. It will be honourable, sacred.”

Jon and Sansa look to each other and the hall seems to slowly come to agree with them. They’re chanting suddenly, their names. In adoration. And Daenerys doesn’t even think, she sees red and charges towards them. She had hoped that all of this would backfire, that in her death there would be instability, but now she sees. They will know peace, and she hates them for that. Her chain, that she hadn’t realized had attached her to the floor, suddenly stopped her at the foot of the dais. She looks up.

There is screaming and for the briefest moment she sees fear flicker in Sansa’s eyes, she gets that close before she is restrained and then slipping into blackness.

When she wakes she is in a small wooded paddock, they are outside. She is chained again and she is restrained with her head on a block. Beheading. It is how they do things in the North.

She starts to panic and survival instinct awakens something in her for the first time in days, only to be pushed down into position.

“Gentle, there is no need for excessive force, she can’t go anywhere,” It is Sansa’s voice.

Daenerys peers up. In front of her are the Stark family. Their closest advisors and then Cersei and Jaime, that is all. Privacy, it is what she had promised. She moves her neck slightly and sees Tyrion to her right. Tears are streaming freely down his face.

“My queen,” Tyrion croaks out, “I’m forever sorry.”

And then he hangs his head, sobs occasionally breaking out. Daenerys holds her head, defiantly. 

“It is time,” Jon says and Daenerys sees Sansa grip his arm, whisper something in his ear but he shakes his head and moves anyways, whatever it was. She finds that herself curious, in these final moments, of these two who have cast her down. They have always been unknowable to her, it is something she won’t have the chance to change.

“Any final words, Lord Lannister?” Jon says and she can’t see him.

She doesn’t look to Tyrion but apparently he has no last words because she hears the swing of an axe and sees his head roll right over to where she is. She holds back a scream before someone comes to retrieve it. She hears Jon move behind her then and he asks her the same thing.

“Any final words, Queen Daenerys?” His voice is smooth and even now there is the smallest part of her that longs for a future they could have had.

She looks up at Jon’s wife, meets her cold blue eyes.

“Dracarys,” she says, unblinking. Her head empties of thoughts then. And as if she is letting out a breath she has been holding for many long years, she drops her head.

Then there is darkness.

~~~

Missandei stands at the edge of the port and looks out across the sea. It won’t be long now. The ship will drop off the remaining unsullied and Dothraki first, and then it will be straight on to Naath. For peace, if she can ever find it.

She closes her eyes and lets the sea air wash over her, the breeze is light and the sun gives her skin a glowing warmth. She almost feels like a little girl again, before she was a slave, before she became the woman she is now, who has lived and loved, who has hurt and lost, who has triumphed and grieved. 

When she feels the hand on her back she doesn’t react, she knows it is him.

“It’s time,” Grey Worm’s voice is quiet and feels like water pouring over her skin, gentle and cleansing. 

It isn’t urgent and doesn’t rush her but she knows that they can’t linger now. The sooner they leave the sooner they are out of any potential harm. Who knows who is around that isn’t willing to forgive them for their complicity, for their sins.

She opens her eyes and brings her hand to rest on his arm, turning her face to his. She presses her lips to his for a second, just sits them there. No fire, just an acknowledgement that despite everything they still have each other in this. They separate and she peers into his eyes.

“We did the right thing, Missandei,” Grey Worm’s voice is pained, he knows she suffers. 

Missandei nods, “I know, that doesn’t make it any easier though.”

She brings her arms around him and hugs him to her, placing her head on his chest. She just wants to remain in this moment til the end of her days, forget about the rest of the world. But then a voice interrupts them.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Westeros’ new Queen is walking towards them, she looks solemn.

And to Missandei’s surprise she is alone. She stops a few feet from them and Missandei disentangles herself from Grey Worm. She knows that even in Essos Daenerys never would’ve dared go anywhere without a guard, without protection. Sansa Stark seems to take a different approach, Missandei shouldn’t be surprised. She looks at her then, she looks regal in a different way than Daenerys ever did. Daenerys beauty was biting and all consuming, it was a dangerous thing. In Sansa, beauty is soft and warm, it spills out of her touching all it reaches and changing it for the better. 

Sansa had come to them, after they had dragged Daenerys from the trial room and said that if her and Grey Worm wished to come to the execution they were welcome. It had been a difficult decision to say no, there was a part of her that burned with betrayal, for what Daenerys had become despite her promises to the opposite. But in the end they had decided it best not to stoke that fire. They were tired after testifying and she knew that her story with Daenerys had ended the moment she held the knife to her pulse point, for once having her Queen’s life in her hands and not the other way around. Because that was how it had felt for so long, that she was indebted to Daenerys, that her life was forfeit to her Queen for freeing her. And while she couldn’t deny the things Daenerys had done to change her life, she realized that she deserved more than a life of blind servitude. 

Sansa speaks again, “I wanted to come to see you both off.”

Missandei notices that the new Queen is fidgeting, she is nervous and unsure. Well, if there is one thing she is adept at it is putting a Queen at ease. 

“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace, but it isn’t necessary. Our boat is ready, we should be off,” Missandei says easily and smiles, she means every word. 

Sansa blushes, “There is no need for such formalities among friends… which I hope we are.”

Missandei is surprised, she looks to Grey Worm for a moment and he nods at her, reassuring her. 

“Of course, Your– Sansa,” Missandei corrects herself. 

Sansa seems to gain some confidence from this. 

“I wanted to thank you both, again. We would’ve won the war and disposed of Daenerys with or without your help. But it is very unlikely that I would’ve walked away with my life if not for both of you. That is a debt I can never repay but my words were true, you will find a friend in Westeros as long as Jon and I are on the throne,” Sansa says and looks at them for their response.

“We did not act for you, Sansa,” Grey Worm’s words are not harsh but Missandei still bristles at the honesty. Because no, it was not out of love for Sansa but out of their own awareness that it was the right thing to do. They did this for themselves.

Sansa’s expression falters and Missandei jumps in.

“He means that we saw the writing on the wall for a while now. Daenerys became that which she sought to destroy, we sat by and allowed it for far too long. So we must thank you as well, for bringing us the opportunity we were looking for,” It is Missandei’s turn to smile at Sansa.

The two women remain locked like that for a few more seconds. Missandei thinks it is awkward, this tentative alliance? Friendship? Acquaintance? Missandei knows not what to call it (after all what do you call the woman who you helped bring about the death of your best friend?) but she sees a kindness in Sansa’s eyes that makes her think that maybe one day they will visit Westeros again, yes she would like that. 

“I’ll let you get to your ship. I wish you safe travels and I hope to see you both again one day,” Sansa bows to them and it is this that seals the deal for Missandei. She vows then to return one day, to see the type of Queen that Sansa becomes because this gratitude and acknowledgement is something she never felt with Daenerys. 

Sansa walks away from them then and Missandei grips Grey Worm’s hand. She pulls him towards their ship.

“Let’s go make our home.”

~~~

Since Grey Worm and Missandei’s departure people had been trickling out of King’s Landing slowly but surely and this morning there were several groups making plans to head home. The war was won, it was time to rebuild, find peace and grow. But it was hard, Sansa thought, she had become used to having all the people she cared for in one place these last few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t last but it didn’t make the goodbyes any easier. 

She stands in the hall with Jon at her side. Bran is across the room, looking more content than she has seen him in a while. She finally convinced him that he doesn’t need to feel guilty about her capture and it seems to be sinking in. It helps, she thinks, that his visions have stopped. Sansa hopes it means that there is nothing else for them to be warned about now, if they will be that lucky.

Arya and Gendry are off to the right, just out of her line of sight. Gendry had arrived shortly after the trials and he had been attached to her sister ever since. Arya, for her part, hadn’t stopped glowing. It was good to see her sister like this. And while most of the Northern Lords had departed, she had heard no complaints about who was obviously going to become their Lord in no short time. 

People are everywhere, saying goodbyes. Embraces all around and words of promised visits. They had made their agreements and signed their documents of trade. Help from their Crown would come in earnest and they were eager to return to their people. The mood is jovial.

Sansa is enjoying watching Arya and Gendry give Edric Storm a good ribbing over something silly when her and Jon are approached.

“Come here Snow,” Theon says as he throws an arm around Jon, not caring that anyone can see them breaking the rules of decorum with the King of Westeros.

Yara comes to stand beside Sansa while Jon and Theon engage in some playful roughhousing. 

“Hard to believe that they’re grown men,” Yara says with a laugh. 

Sansa gives her an easy smile, “Aye, but we love them anyways.”

“You’ll do well here, Sansa. You survived the Dragon Queen, Westeros will be a walk in the park,” Yara says with an unexpected honesty, she hadn’t known the woman could be so serious.

Sansa looks at her with some shock colouring her features. But before she can respond Theon is coming to grab her and engulf her in a hug. 

“Oof, Theon, put me down! I am your Queen!” Sansa says in jest through her surprise.

Theon is laughing openly when he sets her down.

“Well, we’re heading out. But don’t worry we’ll be back soon I’m sure. Maybe once there are some Greyjoy babies we will set up a betrothal,” Theon waggles his eyebrows at them and eyes Sansa’s ever growing belly. To say that the people were excited that their Queen was pregnant was an understatement, it seemed that one wolfling was not nearly enough. 

Jon and Sansa both roll their eyes and then the Greyjoy siblings are heading out, although not before Sansa sees them saying goodbye to both Bran and Arya. After they leave Sansa notices that Meera Reed comes up to Bran and that they seem to be talking pretty intensely. She watches them for a while as Jon mingles with a few Lords.

She has seen little of the woman since they have been in King’s Landing and she knows that the Crannogmen have left, so her continued presence does surprise Sansa a bit. But then, Bran and Meera finish whatever it is they were discussing and she watches as Meera bends down to hug him, and she places the swiftest peck on Bran’s cheek she has ever seen. Then Meera is sweeping out of the room (and out of King’s Landing, Sansa assumes) but she sees Bran’s red cheeks clear across the room. 

“Little Crow!” It is Tormund’s booming voice that pulls Sansa from watching Bran.

And he is embracing Jon not in a way unlike Theon was minutes ago. Behind Tormund comes Davos. 

“We’re heading out to Winterfell now,” Davos says and shakes his heads at her husband and Tormund’s antics. 

“I’ll see my wife. Talk about what we have discussed here and then send word with my final decision,” Davos says.

They had talked over many times what Davos’ role would be now. Jon and Sansa agreed that he would be their first choice for Hand to the throne going forward. Sansa had already given Brienne control of their guard and she had nearly wept with gratitude. Davos, of course, had his family to think about and wanted to return to Winterfell before giving his word. But Sansa suspected that his wife would be more than fine with him taking up the position. 

So Sansa nods at him and smiles, no worry etched into her face now. 

“Wolf Queen,” Tormund says and throws an arm around her shoulder, “Listen here, you best take care of the Little Crow while I’m not around to keep him in line. He needs a firm hand, I know you understand.”

Tormund says this seriously and then gives a barking laugh. He starts to walk away, Davos following behind.

“Don’t worry you two, I’ll be back to make sure you are keeping your Kingdom afloat!” Tormund says as they exit the hall and Davos gives a slightly embarrassed wave from his side. 

Jon puts an arm to Sansa’s waist then.

“Glad to see that Tormund is as mature as ever,” She says and elbows him in the ribs. 

“Oh, you know him. He can never resist,” Jon says with a twinkle in his eyes.

Sansa knows he will miss his best friend, being so far from him. It is one of the many sacrifices they will make going forward. 

Then Arya pushing Bran, and Gendry seem to appear beside them out of nowhere. 

“Well that’s nearly everyone who is leaving today,” Arya says looking around the rapidly emptying room. 

“Nearly,” Sansa agrees just as Robin Arryn and Edmure Tully approach them.

“Your Graces,” Robin nods at them and Sansa can’t quite believe how much he has changed in the last few months. The man he has become. 

“Robin we’re family,” Arya says and rolls her eyes. 

Robin just looks at her with a bit of confusion, as if her statement makes no sense given the context. And Arya mutters something under her breath about going from a boy child to a stuffy rule follower overnight. 

Edmure takes control of the situation then, “Lord Arryn has decided to travel with me to Riverrun for a short visit before returning to the Vale. We’re going to work out some further agreements between the two of us. As family is meant to.”

And Edmure looks to Robin with a fond sort of admiration and Sansa wonders if Edmure, having no children of his own, will look to Robin as more of a son now. With Yohn Royce gone and their Aunt Lysa long dead with her husband, he needs someone he can trust. 

“That sounds splendid Uncle, let us know if there is anything either of you need going forward beyond what has been discussed,” Sansa says. 

After that there is a bit more small talk and then Sansa and her family say farewell to their Uncle and cousin. 

Then the room really is empty and it is only the five of them who remain. In the sudden silence, it is Jon, of all people who lets out the largest yawn Sansa has ever heard. 

Gendry laughs, “I think we are all in need of a well deserved rest.”

He slings his arm around Arya easily and says, “We’re off for a little afternoon nap.”

The two of them head out of the room but Jon calls after them, “And that better be all it is Waters! Just a nap!”

Arya turns around without losing step and sticks out her tongue at Jon.

Sansa moves to push Bran’s chair and the three of them follow behind Arya and Gendry. 

“So, what did Meera Reed have to say?” Sansa asks Bran, a little too innocently. 

And Bran goes rigid in his chair, “You know, I think I want a nap too. If you can bring me to my rooms that would be most appreciated.”

Sansa and Jon are laughing all the way to Bran’s door.

~~~

The next day Sansa is hurrying around the castle when an attendant asks her, very timidly if she could go to Arianne Martell’s chambers, she has requested the Queen’s audience. 

Sansa stops all she is doing and makes her way straight there. 

When she arrives, it is to Arianne alone with a huge spread of food. 

“I thought you could do with a bit of a break and maybe some good food and company. I’ve hardly had a chance to see you since it all went down,” Arianne says while helping herself to some of the sandwiches.

Sansa’s mouth is immediately watering and she makes her way to the table as if in a daze and starts filling her plate, forgetting her manners entirely. 

Then, sheepishly, “Thank you Arianne, this is just what I needed.”

They eat and share small talk about the last weeks for a while and when they’ve had their fill it is Arianne who turns their talk in a different direction.

“I leave with my people tomorrow for Dorne,” Arianne says.

Sansa is surprised, “Nobody has said anything of the arrangements.”

Arianne just shrugs, “It is time. We cannot remain here forever and all is done that can be for the moment. But I do have a request.”

Sansa raises her eyebrows. She thinks that Arianne has likely sat on whatever this request was for a while, considering that it was never brought up in any of the negotiations with the other Kingdoms. Sansa nods to her.

“I have to stay in Dorne. I will visit when I can, I like the capital but Dorne has remained isolated too long in my opinion. We have rectified this with some policies and trade agreements but what I ask now is bigger. I didn’t want to raise the question with the others around, lest you have to make agreements for them all,” Arianne continues.

Sansa’s stomach flips, she is nervous even though she trusts Arianne completely.

“I have a cousin, distant, but very competent. I know you don’t even have a set small council yet, but I would like to see someone Dornish sit on it. He has a variety of skills that could be put to use. I can send him here, if he doesn’t suit then I can find someone else,” Arianne says. 

Sansa lets out a breath, it is an easy thing to agree to. Her and Jon had already discussed trying to make sure their advisors come from all corners of Westeros. 

“Of course Arianne, I’m sure he is perfect for the task. Send him as soon as you can and he may even get his pick of position,” Sansa says with quick relief evident in her voice. 

Arianne smiles and there is a glint in her eyes, “You expected something worse? Come now Sansa, we are friends.”

Arianne takes a drink of wine and smiles over her glass. 

Sansa nods and smiles, “I know Arianne, but the last few weeks have been stressful. Since Daenerys’… death. Ruling is no small feat.”

It is the first time she has made the admission, that this is hard. That it is constant work, because it is what she signed up for and because it is fulfilling, but it is hard and often feels as if the progress they make is so small it hardly matters. 

Arianne nods with understanding, “The trial was…”

“A mess,” Sansa admits. It has plagued her, how they had to drag Daenerys from the room like a wild animal. She can still feel her eyes burning into hers, pure hatred there in the dragon’s violet eyes. 

“Not the word I would choose… eventful” Arianne shakes her head, “It was stressful but it was about the best you could hope for, she showed who she was to the end. And you made the right call, making the execution private. It wasn’t a power grab for the two of you and it solidified mine and other people’s faith in your competency.”

Sansa is a bit taken aback, but she is glad for it. It shows her that hearing other people’s perspectives really colours things differently, when she had thought it a failure she sees now that others are not nearly so harsh. 

“Thank you,” Sansa says and she is a bit proud now, a bit happier with how things turned out. 

Arianne just nods, “I’m sure you have things to do now, and I know I do in preparation for our travels, but I’m glad we were able to talk Sansa. Come and visit Dorne, when things settle down. We would love to have you.”

Arianne stands and moves from her side of the table. Sansa stands on instinct and they hug. She holds Arianne a bit tighter, thankful for this new friend she has.

They let go and Sansa makes to leave.

“And Sansa,” Arianne calls, “I never thanked you. For sending me away when they came. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I stayed. But you showed true Queenship that day.”

Sansa feels her eyes prick with tears, it had been the only choice in her mind but it still makes her heart soar, “Thank you.”

Her voice isn’t above a whisper and the last thing she sees before shutting the door is Arianne’s smiling face.

~~~

The only reason that Sansa isn’t running through the halls like a little girl is because Jon restrains her and keeps her to his side and because there are people in the halls who might take it the wrong way to see their Queen behave in such a way. But she is walking as quickly as possible and pulling Jon along with every step.

“My love, she isn’t going anywhere,” Jon says but there is a glee in his voice that is undeniable. 

When the attendant had come to them to tell them that Brienne was back. Well, it had sent Sansa flying from the room at top speed and Jon had to sprint to catch up to her and to contain her, if only a bit. Because with Brienne, there would be Catelyn.

When it became obvious that they wouldn’t be returning to Winterfell anytime soon she had sent Brienne to retrieve their daughter and bring her here, to their new home. The heir to Westeros to travel across the Kingdom that would one day belong to her and her siblings. 

They open the doors to the receiving hall and Sansa is vibrating with anticipation. It has been almost four months and she cannot wait a moment longer. 

She takes in the whole scene at once, Jon’s hand in hers the only tether to the physical world in that moment. She sees Gilly first. And that confuses her, she hadn’t said Gilly needed to come. And in Gilly’s arms are two children, both with blonde hair. And they are reaching for two others that Sansa registers then. Cersei and Jaime. Of course, Sansa had ensured the Lannister twins would be brought as well but in her excitement it had slipped her mind that it was happening. In fact, it was the only reason Jaime and Cersei delayed returning to Casterly Rock, they awaited the return of their children. 

For one more second she watches as Gilly transfers the children to Cersei and Jaime. Joanna going into Jaime’s waiting arms and Cersei taking Ciseron. For that moment they are no more than two parents, overcome with joy at the reunion to their children. You would never know by looking at them the past that they have had or what they have overcome to get to this point, and Sansa thinks that they deserve this moment, if nothing else. 

And then, while she had been distracted for a few seconds, all that stops because she hears the most beautiful noise.

“Mama? Papa?” 

Cat. Sansa sucks in her breath and her head snaps up. Jon’s gaze is already there. There she is. Their perfect and beloved daughter, resting still in Brienne’s arms. The woman has a huge grin on her face. And Sansa is frozen for a few seconds more. When they had left her she had been babbling only, they had missed her first words? The thought seemed miniscule in comparison to all they had gained but it still stung. 

But then a whole new wave of emotions swept over her because, Mama? Papa? She recognizes them, she knows who they are and identifies them. It fills her with pride and love. And she is sweeping across the room.

She takes Catelyn from Brienne’s outstretched arms and clutches her tightly to her chest. Jon only steps behind her, embracing them both in a moment just for the three of them. (And the baby in Sansa’s belly, choosing this moment to kick up a storm).

“Oh, Cat,” Sansa is crying freely, “Mama has missed you. Mama and Papa have missed you so much.”

And she lets go, to peer into her daughter’s face. Jon holds them both and she is squeezed between the two of them. Her tiny face (but still bigger than when Sansa left her) is alight with joy and she is giggling. Sansa looks to Jon and her heart swells. This has all been worth it, to get to this point. For her family. 

And as Cat is laughing between them she knows that their daughter has not endured any pain, she doesn’t know what her parents have gone through and she can only hope she will never experience hardships as they have, that her life will be love and laughter and nothing else. And she has so many people to thank for protecting her from all of this. 

Her eyes seek out Gilly as Jon and Cat coo at each other.

Gilly takes a few purposeful steps towards them, “I couldn’t stay behind in Winterfell. The castle is in good hands until Arya and Bran return, Sam is watching over things and the children but he wished he could be here, trust me.”

Gilly comes and places her hand on Sansa’s back.

And for a few shining minutes Sansa just relishes in the feeling of safety and simplicity of the peace they have made for themselves. 

~~~

Sansa seeks Cersei out. She knows that the Lannisters are leaving in a few hours and she had mistakenly assumed that Cersei would come to her. It seemed that she would have to take things into her own hands, as usual. 

She finds Cersei’s rooms and when she knocks and someone actually responds to her, she is surprised. It had been the most obvious place but she expected them to have cleared out by now. She turns the door and throws it open, Cersei is inside.

“Ahh, Little Dove,” Cersei says and takes a seat at the table, the bag she was holding going to the floor, “I was just getting some last minute things I hadn’t grabbed. Jaime awaits me with Joanna and Ciseron.”

Sansa steps towards her and takes a seat at the table, “You don’t have to do that you know.”

Cersei looks at her, “Do what?”

“Distance yourself from me, ‘Little Dove’, we are past all that.”

Cersei looks at Sansa and folds her hands together, “I suppose we are.”

They sit in companionable quiet for a few minutes before Sansa forces herself to speak up.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

“I’m safe, my family is safe. I couldn’t have asked for it to turn out any better.”

“But when you returned to Westeros, is this how you thought it would end?” Sansa asks. 

Cersei looks thoughtful and then, “No.”

Cersei sighs, “I knew that the plan was a long shot at best, I thought you might have us killed in the forest, bring archers down on us before even giving us a chance. And then there were a million things that could have gone awry. So no, I hardly expected for us all to make it through this with minor losses. I even questioned if I myself would still be standing.”

Sansa nods, considering. 

She has to ask, “And you’ll be okay now? Back in Westeros but far from the throne?”

It’s not a question a Queen should ask, Sansa knows this. And she knows she can hardly expect an answer either. Not from Cersei, who is a subject now after years of being the Queen. Even if she wanted to she couldn’t admit it. But then she continues to surprise Sansa. 

“It won’t be easy. But I know how to do it now. I have sat by these past months and watched you Sansa. You have become everything I never could’ve. Everything that Daenerys never could. I’ll envy that for the rest of my days, but you need fear nothing from me, I love my family more than power, finally,” Cersei says and Sansa can hear the honesty clear as day.

Sansa’s next words are quiet, “You saved me.”

Cersei raises her eyebrows.

Sansa backtracks, “I know you got to me after we were already in control of the situation. But you led that charge. The others couldn’t have done it without you. I can never thank you enough for that Cersei.”

Cersei looks startled, it wasn’t what she was expecting. 

“A far cry from the people we once were,” Sansa says and reaches her hand across the table, lays it on Cersei’s.

Cersei looks at their hands for a few moments and then looks up. 

“What I did to you at King’s Landing, that is what can never be undone Sansa, this was nothing,” Cersei says, her voice wavering slightly. 

Sansa just shakes her head, “I won’t argue with you Cersei.”

She withdraws her hand but gives the woman a smile. She rises from her seat and heads to the door. 

“Come see us anytime Cersei. We’ll pay a visit to the Rock when we can. Safe travels,” Sansa says and she whisks herself out of the room not letting her look linger on Cersei who still seems dumbfounded by what just happened. 

~~~

“One last drink,” Arya says and holds up a toast. 

“Arya it’s hardly fair to keep calling for more when Sansa can’t partake,” Jon says, a bit too sternly. 

“Oh, come now Jon. She hardly seems to mind, she’s having fun enjoying our shenanigans,” Gendry pipes up. 

And Sansa has to agree with Gendry. While she hasn’t been drinking because of her pregnancy, she has been thoroughly enjoying their impromptu celebration tonight. 

It was just the five of them. The Starks and Gendry, up in Sansa and Jon’s chambers where they retired after the feast that night to send off Arya, Bran, and Gendry. It had been a week since the Lannisters left and that meant that only they remained of those who hadn’t returned home. They could delay no further and the North needed their Lady, as Sansa had reminded Arya when she’d tried to put up an argument. 

Attendants bring the other four one last round of drinks and one of the serving girls slips Sansa a lemon cake, unbeknownst to the others. She thanks her graciously and slips it into her mouth with haste. Delicious.

She watches in amusement as Jon and Arya play some ridiculous game involving impersonations and guessing who the other is meant to be and generally just enjoys the light atmosphere that fills the room, and bleeds into her heart. It lifts her spirits considerably. 

Brienne is watching Cat for the evening as a gift to Jon and Sansa to say this last goodbye, as Gilly had already made a swift return to Winterfell, not wanting to be apart from Sam too long. So they had no responsibilities, well if you excluded the early departure time of the other three in the morning. (But Sansa knew that her and Jon would have the luxury of returning to a warm bed if they so wished).

Sansa gets lost in her thoughts until the conversation starts to wind down. Then it pulls her back in. 

“Well we will be back soon anyways, we will want to give a proper welcome to our new niece or nephew of course,” Bran says amicably. 

Jon nods, “Unless we make it to you first.”

There are laughs to that, though they know Jon and Sansa probably have a good two years before extensive travels will happen, but it is nice to dream anyways. 

Sansa cuts in, “Who wants to make a wager? Boy or girl?”

Arya’s eyes widen and she nearly shouts trying to get it out fast enough, “Girl, definitely girl. Endless daughters for Jon to dote on.”

“Boy,” Bran says simply.

And Arya’s eyes narrow instantly, “I thought you said the visions were stopped. No Three Eyed Raven business?”

Bran grins and Sansa can’t tell if he is being completely honest, “You have my word.”

Arya doesn’t look satisfied but she lets it drop. 

“Gendry? Jon? Thoughts?” Sansa probes.

Jon looks hesitant, they had discussed it the other night and she thinks that Jon wishes for a girl. She had suggested the name Lyanna if it was a girl and there had been something in his eyes like magic at the thought. 

“Girl,” Jon says, unsure, “I love my two girls already so what’s the harm in another one?”

Sansa gives him a knowing smile and then turns her head to Gendry.

He looks extremely deep in thought as if he is considering the most serious proposal of his life and then he speaks.

“Well normally I wouldn’t bet against Arya,” Her eyes narrow further at this, and Gendry continues, “But I have to say boy, keep things balanced.”

Arya gives a noise of dissent but doesn’t comment.

“And you Sansa?” Bran asks. 

Four pairs of eyes turn to her.

Sansa laughs, “Oh, the Maesters told me this morning what they think already.”

Arya is on her feet shouting about injustice, Bran is laughing and Gendry is trying to calm Arya. Jon looks alarmed and their eyes meet, she mouths ‘I’ll tell you later’ and his face calms. 

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Sansa says mischievously as Arya retakes her seat. 

They chatter for another thirty minutes as the fire starts to die and once everyone is yawning Sansa knows it is time to shut things down. 

“Well, I think we should all turn in. It’s an early rise tomorrow,” She says and stands up.

She heads to the door to see them out but then thinks better of it. She turns back to them.

“Let us say a proper goodbye now, in case we don’t have a chance in the morning,” She says and tries to keep her voice from trembling. 

Gendry glances at his feet and she sees Arya’s face fall momentarily. Even Bran has a crease in his forehead. But Jon comes up behind them all.

“It’s not truly goodbye, not this time. We are all safe, we’ll see each other soon,” He says in an attempt to bring the mood up.

Sansa brightens at his words and then the rest of them are embracing. She hugs Gendry and gives him a bit of a ribbing about taking care of her sister. Then she hugs Bran and he whispers to her again, an apology for his visions, the pain they brought, and that even though they’re gone, he’ll never stop looking. She wishes he would stop, but she just ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead. Tells him to stay warm. 

Then she turns to Arya. Arya pauses and then gives Sansa the tightest squeeze. Sansa bends down to Arya’s ear.

“You can do this you know.”

Arya bristles but then whispers back, “I’m scared Sansa.”

And Sansa has seen it in her sister’s eyes, this apprehension about moving into a new part of her life, about leaving some things behind and discovering the new. She sympathizes. 

“I know, but you’ll be great. And if you ever need, for anything, send a letter. Come yourself, whatever you need,” Sansa says and gives her one last squeeze before letting her go. 

She goes back to Jon and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, lays a kiss on her hair and they say goodbye to the rest of their family. She knows they’ll say goodbye again in the morning but this feels more special, more private and she stores the memory away for nights when she misses them especially badly. 

The door closes behind them and she turns to Jon.

“Now what?” She asks, as this first part of their ascension seems to come to an end.

Jon seems to consider it, then breaks out into a smile, “Now, we rule.”

~~~

Sansa had just laid Cat to bed in the room just off their chambers and as she turns back to her and Jon’s room she finds him standing in the doorway watching her and Cat with a dazed look of contentment spreading across his face.

She closes the gap between them and nestles into his side. They stand there in silence for a few minutes watching as Cat drifts into a sleep, making out her breaths from across the room as they slow down. Everything is quiet, calm. And it’s still early for once. 

The last few weeks, and really since they’d captured Daenerys everything had been running full tilt. And while they had talked here and there, both of them were usually so exhausted from the day that they collapsed into bed at the end of the night with little time to just be with each other. This moment of solitude now was unexpected but also desperately needed. 

“Let’s go,” Sansa whispers after a few more minutes and tugs on Jon’s arm to get him to follow her back to their bed.

Both of them change into their night things quickly and Sansa grabs a book she had been reading, they retire to their bed and Sansa reclines against the headboard and gets comfortable. Jon, to her surprise, lays down on his stomach beside her and then props his head on her now very pregnant stomach. He looks absolutely ridiculous and she snorts.

“Really Jon?”

“Am I not allowed to admire my wife?” Jon asks with mock offence.

Sansa just rolls her eyes and tries to concentrate on her book but not five minutes later Jon starts blowing on her stomach and making her nightdress flutter. She thinks he will stop but when he doesn’t she lets out a sigh and places her book on the side table.

“Yes Jon?” She makes her voice sound as exhausted as possible even though she is not truly annoyed. 

Jon looks at her with a gaze that she fell in love with. He looks like an innocent boy, not the hardened warrior. Not the man who stole a dragon for his people, for her. No, just the boy she had shared ale with at the wall and reminisced with in the darkest of their days.

He interlaces their hands and continues to look at her.

“I’ve missed you,” Jon’s voice is so sincere it breaks her heart a bit. She knows they’ve been incredibly busy, they haven’t had a moment's rest. 

She brings her free hand down to his cheek, “I’ve missed you too.”

They stare at each other for a bit longer, seemingly at a loss of what to do now that they have nothing else to distract them. Sansa decides then. It wasn’t something she had actively thought about but she knows it is time. 

“I think I’m ready to talk about it,” Sansa says and squeezes Jon’s hand a bit tighter.

In the aftermath of her rescue Jon had tried to broach the subject of her capture and she had closed him out, she needed time to process it herself and he respected that. Now, Jon is instantly alert and he pulls himself up into a seated position, not letting go of her hand and staying silent. Imploring her to go on with his eyes.

And so she does. She tells him the story in its entirety without interruption, before when she had told the family about Varys’ plan she had left out anything gritty just letting them know that Missandei and Grey Worm were to be implicitly trusted. He flinches at parts of the tale and his whole body tenses when she tells him about Daenerys having a knife to her throat. But he lets her talk it out, and she’s grateful because it’s the final catharsis she needs to let this part of her life go. When she finishes there is silence and then Jon kisses her hand.

“You’ve been so brave my love,” Jon says quietly.

Sansa nods, she won’t deny it even if she can’t say it herself.

“She wasn’t in her right mind Jon, she was no longer herself once she lost her dragons. Even when Jorah died she didn’t really react outwardly not as I thought she would at least. When we captured her she just shut down… You saw a bit of that at the trial but…” Sansa trails off and looks to her hands. 

Jon pulls her into his lap then and hugs her. 

“We did what we had to Sansa, nothing more. That doesn’t make us bad people,” Jon assures her. 

And then her voice catches, “I thought you were dead.”

Jon stills and she looks up at him. It had been brief, the time she thought she had lost him but it stayed with her. She had had a few nightmares since then where she woke up shaking and Jon would wake and hold her, not pressing her for the details, but it needs to be said.

Jon strokes some hair from her face, draws her eyes to his own.

“You will never lose me Sansa,” Jon speaks with authority, “When I heard of your capture… I didn’t think I would survive it but I remounted Rhaegal with only the intent of getting back to you, I hated those dragons, I hated that I felt them burn in me. But I would do it all again to get back to you.”

Sansa doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s so much, Jon never does things in halves. So she just sits there. Both of them wrapped up in each other. Hours could pass and she wouldn’t know, but when one of them speaks again, it is with a softer voice. The time for the heavy having passed with the time.

“So,” Jon says and grins at her, “A boy.”

He places a hand on her belly. After the night of the bets she had told Jon what the Maesters suspected and while she had known he hoped for a girl the news hadn’t curbed his enthusiasm. The thought of having a son of his own name and blood was something that brought out a deep rooted fear in Jon (from his days of being a bastard in Winterfell), she knew this, but it also brought unadulterated joy.

Sansa returns his smile and places a hand on top of his, “I hope so, yes.”

“We haven’t discussed names,” Jon says casually but something in his voice lets her know that he has thought of names even if they’ve been unvoiced. 

“No…” Sansa is hesitant, “We haven’t.”

They both are looking at one another and something seems to pass between them, unsaid yet laced with meaning. Because then they speak at the same time.

“Robb.”

They both seem to catch their breath as they realize they’ve spoken in unison. And Sansa lets another smile break out as Jon does too, they’re already on the same page. And while they hadn’t talked about it, it should never have been a question. Robb had been more dear to Jon than any of them growing up and Sansa had looked up to her brother like no other. His loss had rippled through both of them for years and he deserved this honour. 

Jon kisses her then, and no more words need to pass between them for that night. They have found their peace, protected each other and made a future for all the people they love. Some have been lost, yes, but they won’t be forgotten in the years to come. So, as she crawls onto Jon’s lap and rakes her fingers into his hair, drawing a moan from his mouth, she knows that Westeros will be okay if their King and Queen take one night to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went into this like 'omg the last chapter will be so short and easy to write' and then it was the second longest chapter of the whole fic....i played myself!! but I really hoped that this gave closure to everything, I tried my best! And an epilogue is forthcoming, idk when or how long it will be but you will receive it I guarantee and I will save my longer final thoughts for the fic when I post that so in the meantime.... you know I always love it if you drop a comment! All the love!!


	19. the myth of me and you, is fiction turned to truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dream of spring.

It is Catelyn’s nineteenth name day. And she feels like it is the furthest thing from everyone else’s mind. She doesn’t consider herself spoiled, despite being a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, no, her parents ingrained a sense of discipline in her. But she thinks, it would be nice if there weren’t a thousand other things happening on this one specific day. 

She sighs and decides to suck it up. Her mother and father had said that they wanted to talk to her after dinner, and much was to happen between now and then. None of which was related to her birthday. She had been sent a tray of her favourite breakfasts, apples and cinnamon in oatmeal and two boiled eggs. The note, requesting she plan to sit down to talk with her parents after dinner had been attached. It hinted at a gift, and the thought excited her. 

But she had to get through the rest of the day before she could go to their mysterious meeting. And a long day it shall be. The Lannisters were arriving, probably in the next few hours, due to Robb’s impending marriage. Ack. She rolled her eyes and a prickle of disgust made her squirm in her seat. 

She had finished her breakfast and had flitted about the castle a while. She hadn’t seen her parents, probably busy with arranging things so they were just right for the visit. Her siblings were all absent as well. Most of the castle staff had wished her a fleeting happy name day but had been too busy with their tasks to pay her much mind. 

So she had returned to her room and taken out her paints. Catelyn’s favoured artistic expression was paint. She could spend hours rendering beautiful landscapes or portraits with a startling likeness to her loved ones. It was a skill her parents had encouraged in her since she had taken it up in her youth (alongside swordplay, even when others turned up a nose at the unladylike behaviour. When your Aunt was Lady Arya Stark and your mother’s sword shield was Ser Brienne, well you had certain privileges), and it still brought her joy today. She can’t really imagine a better way to spend her day than up in her room at her easel, she supposes that maybe everyone being preoccupied has its benefits if she can remain here with her paints. 

Currently, she is working on a portrait of her and her siblings. It is the closest she has ever come to doing a self portrait, she is in the image for the first time. She wants to present it to her parents on their anniversary in a few weeks time. She had finished all her siblings easily but she had gone back to her own face time and time again, she couldn’t get it quite right no matter how many times she tried. 

She thinks that maybe everyone feels this way, but she can’t stand to spend that much time considering her own face. Catelyn doesn’t think she’s ugly, far from it. She looks so similar to her mother, the same way Robb is the perfect image of their father. It is a bit disturbing honestly. And Sansa, her mother, is a beauty. But on her own face Catelyn finds the features out of place, when she tries to paint them something goes awry and she ends up dissatisfied. 

So instead she considers the finished people in the painting. Robb, of course, looks so like their father. Less stocky and a bit taller but with the same gruff features and dark hair, almost black, and dark grey eyes. He kept it shorter than their father favoured and Catelyn had decided that it was probably to distinguish himself from the King. Because in personality they were startlingly different. Catelyn had painted Robb laughing, he was always having a go, everything was a joke to Robb and he wasn’t nearly as serious and closed off as their father was. Robb could have a laugh with anyone, their father reserved those moments for his loved ones. And she couldn’t blame Robb for his jokes, but gods it irritated sometimes. Robb was only two years younger than her, just having turned seventeen himself, but she swore he was still a little boy at heart. 

Then there was Lyanna, she had come a year after Robb. When they had all stood together last year for their royal portrait, it had never been more clear to her how much Lyanna stood out from the rest of them, and she could see it now in her own rendering. Lyanna had inherited the latent looks of their long dead grandfather, Rhaegar Targaryen. They’d been raised on the stories of how their parents defeated the dynasty to bring peace to Westeros, sentencing their father’s Aunt Daenerys to death to do so. And Catelyn knew that Lyanna had at times resented the looks. Her long white hair fell in ringlets to her waist. And oh, Catelyn envied the ringlets (she knew her father’s hair curled and she assumed it came from him). And then her eyes, they were a stunning indigo that changed in the sun to a bright violet. But despite this, Catelyn’s artistic eye can see how she fits in this family. Her smile is the same as their mother’s, just as bright and beaming. And in the height of summer her hair will get streaked with red from the sun, it is a thrilling combination and Catelyn had painted it once, just to see the effect in oil colours. And above all of them, Lyanna is kind. She has the biggest heart, and nobody could ever accuse her of the treachery of the Targaryens of old even if she looks just like them. And if they do, Catelyn will set them straight.

Lastly, she turns to their youngest brother, little Ned. She’d been old enough when he was born, nearly six, to remember it well. She’d been allowed to crawl up into the bed with her mother to see the new baby when he was only a few hours old. Ned was a rascal, but he was well on his way to becoming the best swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms, she thought, he trains every day and rises at the crack of dawn to practice his drills. His sword gleams at his hip in the painting. He’s thirteen now but he is quickly gaining on Lyanna’s height in the painting, though he still has a ways to go to catch herself and Robb. He too resembles their father, but not quite so extremely. His hair is dark but more of a brown with some auburn that comes out in the sun and his eyes are the startling Tully blue of herself and their mother. They pop even more on Ned because of his contrasting features. 

Catelyn sighs and takes a step away. She loves her siblings, more than anything, she thinks. 

“Cat!” It’s a nickname she only allows her family to get away with. Lyanna’s voice takes her by surprise as she didn’t hear the door and so she rushes to cover the canvas. 

“What is that?” Lyanna’s inquisitive voice comes out and Catelyn knows it’s no use.

“Cat, it’s beautiful, it’s for our parents I assume?” Lyanna says in awe and comes to brush her fingers over their faces, “Yours isn’t done though.”

“Can’t get it quite right,” Catelyn says dismissively. 

Lyanna gives her a smile and she is all dimples, “You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

“Happy name day by the way, everyone’s been wondering why you’re hiding out up here,” Lyanna asks though Catelyn imagines she knows the answer. Lyanna is perceptive like that, she always knows the right thing to say.

“The castle is busy with other ongoings today, you know that,” Catelyn dismisses her concerns again. 

“And it’s nothing to do with Robb’s impending marriage?” Lyanna pries and Catelyn genuinely wishes she would drop it. 

When the Lannisters had visited last year, their brother Robb had swiftly fallen in love with Joanna Lannister, the daughter of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, after not seeing her for nearly a year and a half. It seemed that the time apart had changed something in the two of them, even though they’d known each other since childhood. And it had been all that occupied the castle since. The whole thing was a bit of a sore spot for her really. 

She had talked many times with her parents over the years, they had wanted nothing more, in truth, to pass the throne to her. Not as a slight to Robb, but as the eldest child they thought it should be her right. Although despite their best efforts it was not something they could convince most of Westeros of, and she had had years to come to terms with it. She hadn’t grown up with dreams of being Queen, in truth she didn’t think she would enjoy it much. And she knew Robb would be a good king. But realizing that with his marriage to Joanna, that Westeros would have a different Queen one day. Well, it sucked, and then to be reminded of it on her name day no less. 

The issue is that Joanna is lovely. She is all blonde hair and green eyes, light laughter and bubbly conversation. But she is sharp and quick witted. They had grown up sort of friends thanks to their parents, the kind who saw each other every so often when travel permitted. She would be good for Robb. And Catelyn was glad for the match. Joanna was a few years older and some people had thought it strange but really what was four years? Catelyn thought they only raised a brow because it was Robb who was younger and not his wife to be. But when you are destined to be King, there isn’t much you won’t be allowed. 

Catelyn knew that her parents were just relieved that Robb had fallen in love with such an advantageous political match. It could’ve been much more disastrous for everyone involved. 

But what really got Catelyn thinking was her own future. She would be welcome to stay here for all her days, painting and basking in the love of her family. Yet she knew she wanted more, and what she feared was that the only way to gain more was by marrying some high born Lord who might not even know anything of her, and Catelyn aspired to more than marriage to a handsome face. 

Robb and Joanna would be married in a few short weeks. Joanna’s brother Ciseron was promised to Magda Tyrell from Highgarden. Even Lyanna had her sights set on the Greyjoy heir, Victoron. They had gotten quite close last year when he came visiting for a few months and she had talked fondly of him ever since, she knew they sent letters frequently. Nothing was official but Catelyn could see the futures spreading out before all those around her. And here she was, older than them all, with no idea what she wanted to do. 

She knew there had been offers for her hand, her parents had come to her every time to discuss such matters but they had always put them off. The only one she had even considered with any seriousness was from Quenteryn Martell, a lovely boy she had met a few times when her mother’s close friend Lady Arianne Martell came calling. But she knew if she were to marry one day, even Quenteryn, that she would need to know him better beforehand. 

Catelyn realizes suddenly that she has become fully lost in her thoughts and when she looks back to Lyanna, she is grinning at her sister. 

“That’s what I thought,” Lyanna says knowingly and places a hand on Catelyn’s shoulder, “Everything will work out in the end Cat, I promise. But for now, let’s go! I think our guests are arriving!”

And so she follows her sister through the castle to the main courtyard and when they arrive, well there is quite the commotion. Her mother and father are there but they look quite frazzled. And it doesn’t take Catelyn a second to figure out why. 

There in the courtyard are her Aunt Arya and Uncle Gendry and all three of her cousins, behind them in his chair is her Uncle Bran. In all the other excitements she had nearly forgotten that they were coming for the wedding as well. She didn’t know they were arriving today though.

And apparently neither did her parents.

“Arya!” Her mother scolds, rushing to embrace her sister, “You told me you wouldn’t arrive for another two days!”

“Surprise!” Her Aunt Arya beams up at both Sansa and Jon. 

Lyanna and Catelyn go unnoticed for a few moments as her parents reunite with their family. 

Catelyn glances back to where she saw her cousins and notices there are only two now. Rickard, the eldest, has disappeared. He must be off with Ned already. The two were of the same age and had been nothing but trouble for the entire time they had known each other. Arya and Sansa often said they gave their own brother’s a run for their money in their youth and they had had four, five if you included Uncle Theon. Catelyn tried not to think about what they were planning this time around. 

That left Nymeria and Mya. Catelyn had asked her mother once about Aunt Arya’s children's names and she had explained that Rickard had been their grandfather’s name while also paying homage to their younger brother Rickon, the one who had been slain by Ramsay Bolton, a name that Catelyn knew better than to bring up in her mother’s presence. Nymeria and Mya had been less clear. She had said that Mya was for a sister that Uncle Gendry had never known before she had died. And when asked about Nymeria she simply smiled and said she had been an old friend of Arya’s.

Catelyn minded little though about the peculiarity. Nymeria and Mya were twelve and eight respectively and she knew they both looked up to Catelyn and Lyanna quite a bit. So when they notice them and bolt across the yard to embrace them, Catelyn is unsurprised. They return the embraces with enthusiasm and talk excitedly with their younger cousins. 

They’re all chatting and Nymeria is telling them a story of their travels when her parents approach them with their Uncle Bran. 

“And we couldn’t forget this one’s name day,” Her Aunt Arya says and pulls Catelyn into a hug. 

She had always loved her Aunt Arya. Her own father had told her once that she was a perfect blend of Arya and Sansa. She had her mother’s sharp mind for politics mixed with her Aunt Arya’s spunk that drove her to pick up a sword. Catelyn had spent almost as much time training with a sword as she did studying the politics of Westeros. 

Her parents pass a knowing smile between the two of them and she is reminded of the fact that they want to meet with her later.

Afterward they all talk for a few more minutes until Sansa all of a sudden exclaims in alarm.

“Cersei and Jaime are likely to be here in less than two hours, we have so much to do, we must go now Jon!” And she starts pulling him back to the castle, her father offers the others a reluctant grin. 

“She tries much too hard for that woman.” Aunt Arya says with a grin and shake of her head.

Uncle Gendry puts an arm around her waist, “Easy love.”

And Uncle Bran cuts in, “Don’t forget, without Cersei who knows if we would all be here.”

It was the kind of grave thing Uncle Bran often said but Arya just scoffs and they all make their way back to the castle, brushing it off. 

~~~

Hours later the Lannisters arrive and Catelyn comes down to meet them with the rest of her family. Ned and Rickard were suspiciously back in sight and seemed a little bit too innocent for her liking. But the meeting had gone fine. Too formal in her opinion for the families that had come together to bring Westeros its peace it knows today. But she knows much of the long history there is between her mother and Cersei Lannister so she feels that she understands somewhat. Still it goes on forever. Finally Cersei and Jaime are shown to their rooms and Robb is allowed to embrace Joanna in a fierce hug because it appears he might otherwise jump out his skin. Joanna seems to think it is cute though which is good because Catelyn and Ciseron exchange a look of utter revulsion. She knew she had always liked him for a reason. Afterwards she is free to go and prepare for dinner. 

Catelyn is just finishing adjusting her dress, having sent her chambermaids away once they finished her hair when Robb comes vaulting into her rooms, with no such thing as a knock.

She turns to reprimand him about proper behaviour but then she freezes. And then promptly breaks into hysterical giggles. She is quickly out of breath.

Robb’s entire top half is covered in what looks like whipped cream. 

“Help me! Cat! Please!” Robb begs.

“What happened?” Catelyn says through her laughs, she can barely get the two words out. 

“Rickard and Ned happened,” And oh that makes sense, “They rigged some sort of contraption that sent whipped cream they stole from the kitchens to catapult down on me when I opened my chamber doors and then ran before I could ring their necks, the little brats.”

Catelyn finally regains her composure but gods this is sweet, the best name day gift she could ask for. 

She grabs a cloth and instructs Robb to sit and then she gets to work. She cleans his face and then calls for hot water to wash out his hair. They sit and work in relative silence. 

“Thanks Cat, I was having a heart attack thinking about seeing Joanna like this,” Robb laughs nervously. 

“Oh, she’d love you all the same,” Catelyn says and then realizes something, “Wait, did you run all the way from your rooms here looking like that?”

Robb gives her a sheepish nod and it sends her into another fit of laughter. 

“Okay, okay I’m done now,” She breathes deeply and meets Robb’s unimpressed stare, “I’ll go fetch you a clean shirt and then we can head down together, you can blame our lateness on me.”

“Oh not on your name day Cat,” Robb says but she sees thankfulness in his eyes, “Though I imagine Rickard and Ned have told the whole castle about the incident already.”

Catelyn has to concede to that point and then she turns to go grab Robb a new shirt. He catches her by the wrist before she can leave though.

“Hey wait,” Robb says and she turns back to him.

“I know all this is hard for you,” Robb starts.

And Catelyn sighs, “We don’t have to talk about it Robb.”

They had before once, Robb had told her he would give up the throne for her, that he would sign it all away. But Catelyn knew it would only bring strife to the realm, strife that was unnecessary. Her pride would endure it. Her parents had made sure she always knew that the realm came first, after all they had sacrificed she couldn’t repay them by letting Robb do something so reckless. 

“I just want you to know,” Robb says and meets her eyes earnestly, “I will never make you do anything you don’t wish to, when I’m King one day. You won’t marry if you don’t want to, hell you can live in the Red Keep forever. We will never cast you out, Joanna agrees.”

The sentiment brings tears to her eyes and she turns quickly and mutters her thanks to him before she bursts out of the room, mumbling about needing to get that shirt for him. The knowledge that Robb and Joanna are in agreement soothes her about her unknown future.

She composes herself on the journey and when she returns he doesn’t broach the subject again, they head to the feast together. 

Robb is right, Rickard and Ned are well into a reenactment of Robb’s unfortunate event by the time they get there and everyone is giving him a good laugh, but he seems put at ease when Joanna rises to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

The rest of the feast flies by. She is old enough now that she is seated closer to most of the other adults and she gets to talk a fair bit with her Aunt Arya and Uncles Gendry and Bran about the going ons in the North. Ciseron is with them as well and he talks about his life on the Rock, his upcoming marriage to Magda Tyrell and he even conspires with Catelyn to thoroughly embarrass both Robb and Joanna at some point before the wedding, it is their right as the siblings after all. She sees her mother and father deep in conversation with Cersei and Jaime Lannister for most of the evening and while she overhears scraps she doesn’t manage to put together a clear picture of what it is they discuss.

Lyanna, the poor thing, ends up watching over the younger siblings and cousins much of the evening and has to prevent three foodfights from breaking out between Rickard and Ned all while fielding never ending questions from Nymeria and Mya. Catelyn’s heart pangs for her but she figures she deserves the night off, it is still her name day after all. 

At the end of the feast everyone starts to filter out and Catelyn is thinking of her comfortable bed and a long rest after the filling meal when she hears her name ring out.

“Catelyn, don’t forget to come to our chambers, we’ll be there in about half an hour, waiting for you!” Her mother’s voice calls and several eyes look at her inquisitively.

She had nearly forgotten again about the mysterious meeting her parents had requested this morning. 

So, she goes back to her own chambers and cleans up a bit and spends time not counting the minutes until she can go to their chambers. When there are five minutes left she hurries through the halls to her parents room and is relieved to find them there ready and waiting sitting at their table. Together and holding hands, a chair waiting for her. 

She’d always thought her parents were a bit sickly sweet in love. But she also knew all the hardships they had endured to earn that love and it did bring her joy to see them happy now. 

“Happy name day, darling girl,” Her father says and gestures to the chair, “Your mother and I haven’t had a chance to give you your gift yet but I hope you can forgive us, it’s been a busy day.”

Catelyn can’t help but have her eyes dart around, she sees nothing out of place in the room. What could the gift be? She pulls herself up to the table. 

“Slow down Jon, there are things we must discuss first,” her mother says and pats his hand gently.

They exchange another smile and Catelyn feels her heart rate pick up, they’re both being quite odd. 

“It’s quite alright, I wasn’t really expecting anything. I know everyone is busy,” Catelyn says and she hates the way her voice shows her obvious nerves. 

“Nonsense Cat,” Her mother says and rolls her eyes, “We wouldn’t be that callous.”

They all stare at each other for a few seconds and then her mother continues.

“You know the story of the war on Daenerys Targaryen,” She starts slowly and then presses on, “You know our part in that, and you know that you were alive for it, though you remember nothing of the actual even.”

Catelyn nods at that, confused where this is going. She knows that she had remained in Winterfell with Sam and Gilly, still a small baby, while her parents had gone off to rid the world of the last dragons, it was not a secret. 

Her father starts then and she sees him grip her mother’s hand tighter, “It was the hardest time of our lives for me and your mother. We thought you might never see us again, never really know us. At that time you were the sole heir to Winterfell and the sole heir to the throne we were claiming here.”

And Catelyn thinks she sees something forming in her mind but she lets them continue.

“We’ve told you before how much we wish we could change Westeros more quickly. How we would have had you Queen if we could. Maybe Robb’s daughters…” Her mother trails off and then gets back on track, “I know it is little comfort, being a daughter myself, I understand when you may feel like you are only to find some Lord to marry. And your father and I have thought long and hard about this, about what we could do, to maybe heal some of that hurt in you.”

Her mother rubs her father’s thumb then and they look to each other’s eyes. Hold them there together for a few seconds and then they speak in unison. 

“We wish to give you Dragonstone.”

Catelyn thinks all the air is being sucked out of the room. Dragonstone. She knew of the island of course. The castle of the Targaryens, then the Baratheons, and now technically theirs. It passed to her father, Jon by law. As the last true Targaryen. Under Daenerys’ rule she had never restored it and it had sat vacant since her parents took the throne. But it remained an important symbol to all those in Westeros. She can hardly comprehend what it means, to be gifted an island. 

“Dragonstone?” Catelyn breathes and looks between them, slightly bewildered.

They are both trying to hold back smiles then. 

“Yes,” Her father says and reaches to grab her own hand, “It is mine by rights and as such my kin should have it. You can restore it to a new glory that leaves its bloody history in the past, darling.”

Her mother is more cautious, “It will be hard work. You will be the Lady of Dragonstone, rebuilding will take time and eventually you may be Wardeness of the East depending on how things progress. But it would provide you freedom, you would be free to marry or not and you would gain much respect throughout the realm. You could continue your sword training while stretching your developing mind for politics.”

Then her father smiles, “And it would provide you plenty of new views to paint.”

Catelyn’s heart is soaring, suddenly she knows it’s what she has always dreamed of. A castle of her own, and responsibilities to take care of without tying herself to another person without a choice in the matter. If she had known to wish for it before she would’ve done nothing else. Her eyes spill with tears.

“It’s too much,” She says through her tears.

Her mother comes to put an arm around her and her father looks at her in confusion.

“Too much? Robb will have the Seven Kingdoms, your sister is likely to marry that Greyjoy boy despite my better judgements,” Jon catches Catelyn’s look of surprise, “Don’t look so shocked, we know what goes on with our own children.”

Her mother speaks from her side, continues stroking her hair, “Ned will likely become a Kingsguard in time, serving your brother for life. Your cousins. Well Rickard will become Lord of Winterfell one day.”

Her mother hesitates then and comes to a decision, “I shouldn’t say anything but you can keep a secret. Your Uncle Edmure has no heir, he plans to appoint the role to Nymeria in time. And Mya is still so young, who knows what her future holds.”

The news about Nymeria is surprising to her but she knows it makes sense, she has Tully blood after all. Her father speaks again. 

“This is nothing more than all that when you consider you are our eldest, it only means your responsibilities are more,” He says with reassurance. 

And Catelyn considers all they have said. She nods with resolve. 

“I’d like that,” She says.

Her mother bursts into a splitting smile and kisses her forehead, her father jumps up to hug her as well. 

“Okay, Catelyn. You can think more about it over the next few days. We will discuss specifics tomorrow but you can sleep for now. We’ll announce it before the wedding if you decide it’s what you really want,” Her mother says. 

Both her parents embrace her once and then send her off to bed. 

And as Catelyn heads back to her rooms, nearly in a daze for how her day has turned around. She thinks that perhaps this is her best name day yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, we have reached the end. I won't dwell on the epilogue. In truth I could've gone on and on but an epilogue is supposed to give us a glimpse. Our favourites are healthy and happy and giving this to you through Cat's fresh eyes was fun when she spent most of the rest of the fic merely in people's thoughts or asleep lol.
> 
> Some final thoughts about this journey. As I've said before I started this fic last June. I wrote the scene of Dany and Sansa after the kidnapping as catharsis but didn't know what else I wanted. I decided it hinged on Cersei and Jaime surviving and fleeing, as I would have them do in my dreams. So I wrote the first three chapters in full and then I stopped. I moved on to other things and forgot about it. I went home this last christmas and one night in a flurry I edited everything I had wrote and wrote some 15k more onto it. i thought, wow I have something here and then I posted the first chapter of this just as 2020 made it's way here. In the last six months I have reignited a love for writing I haven't had since I was a teenager. In large part that is thanks to the readers (almost 10k hits on this omfg!) and your amazing comments, many of you have left me beautiful words of encouragement and I appreciate every one. And even those who don't leave words, your kudos and just your views give me so much joy! I thank you all so much. 
> 
> This fic became more than I could've imagined a year ago, 140k of story telling. It has given me back the characters I love so dearly, Jon, Sansa, Bran and Cersei. It has ignited new loves for Arya and Daenerys specifically. It has made me revel in the more side characters, their small importances. And it has made me remember why I fell in love with GOT. 
> 
> COVID 19 has expedited the completion of this fic and while I am sad it is over, I am excited to go onto other works. I have posted a few oneshots while completing this that I encourage you to check out, as well as the drabbles I posted this week for drabblefest. I also have a new fic coming that I am extremely excited to share with you all and am very proud of. 
> 
> So thanks once more. I hope to hear from you all again in the future, but know if you read this fic that you read something very dear to me for it gave me back a passion I had thought long dead and here is too many more stories in my future, because thanks to Jon and Sansa and all of you, I know now that writing is something I won't put down again. 
> 
> All the love.


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